Burning Down the House
by CelestinaC
Summary: After a six-month hiatus from bounty hunting, Stephanie Plum returns only to find out she must hunt down, and bring in, an FTA Terry G. Gilman. Unfortunately for Steph, bringing in the missing blond mobster will only lead to a world of trouble.
1. Chapter 01: When it rains, it pours

Disclaimer: I didn't create most of the characters that will surface throughout this sham of a Stephanie Plum fanifc. Janet Evanovich did, and does better job of it too. All this is really is, is an attempt by me to stretch my writing skills with characters I love. So please don't sue me. Because....C'mon. Suing me would be like suing a cute little puppy. All you'd likely get is a bunch crap. :o)

Chapter 1: When it rains, it pours....

Frankie V. Copozzi was a dead man.

Well...not yet, anyway. Obviously, he's up and—keyword here--_running_ down Hamilton & Main. But, as of 1.5 blocks ago, I made the decisive executive decision that Frankie _must die _....horrifically.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not normally this blood thirsty. Growing up in the Burg, what with it's penchant for nurturing oddball 1950's stereotypes and characters straight out of a Francis Ford Coppola movie, a girl can't help but extend some leeway in the sanity department. Especially an unusual girl like myself. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't got a limit. Somebody has to do something pretty rotten, like say, stalk me, kidnap me, force me to cook/clean, make me run in 60 degree weather, or incite hordes of old people to throw lime green Jell-O at me to push me into the realm of pure utter hatred. Frankie has managed to accomplish the last two in less than fifteen minutes.

I struggled to catch my breath.

"_Stop!_" I yelled. A giant rubber chicken sailed straight at my head.

Ducking down to avoid the chicken missile, I yelled.

"I said, _"Stop Moron_," gasping in and out. "Stop running dammit!" by now, in this two block chase, I'd managed to go from wheezing to gasping in less than six minutes. That's a record, for even me.

"Stop," I said, panting my little heart out. My body wasn't made for this. Macy's sales, Plum dinners, the occasional chocolate binge, maybe. But not this. Not chasing down some bald head "It" reject, with black diamond-shaped spikes drawn across his eyelids in the cold, polluted Jersey outdoors. Hell, I wasn't made for running after cute Cuban mercenaries in sunny, clean Jersey indoors either. But I digress.

"You're my _car note_....(Pant)..._stop running!_!"

He took a swill out of a bottle of (what I seriously doubted was) seltzer, then tossed it over his shoulder. Slurring over half the words, he said. "Catch me, you out of shape bitch!"

"Grrrr. You are so dead," I grumbled. "DEAD, YOU HEAR ME FRANKIE?...(Pant)...(Gasp)...DEAD,"

"Bite ME!" with that, he took off with another burst of speed and ran around a corner.

"ARGHHHH! STOP!"

Frankie wasn't even attempting to comply. By now, he'd run out of things to toss over his shoulder and concentrated on scaling a six foot metal fence. As I rounded the corner, he had already made it over and was quickly disappearing down the side of a building.

"Noooo!" I puffed in agony. A fence, a freakin' fence! Not only do I have to chase his clown butt halfway around downtown Trenton, but I gotta climb a fence too!?

Life sucks!

I reached the rusted metal fence and fumbled my way across the top. Half of me successfully made it over the fence. Unfortunately, the other half got snagged on fence wire. Losing my balance, I fell forward and hung, precariously, by one pants leg, upside down. My entire body banged repeatedly, face-first against the fence. Then, as I knew would happen, my pants leg ripped completely, sending me crashing-–hard— into the pavement.

Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the cloudy sky and moaned. See Plum, this is what happens when you oversleep ONE Sunday morning mass.

As if to confirm my suspicions, a bolt of lighting flashed across the sky, followed closely by the echo of thunder.

"Cute one, God."

I laid there, wheezing in and out, trying to catch my breath and thought about Frankie,

_die you evil drunken bastard clown, die'_ Copozzi.

One of Vincent Plum's family of repeat drunken offenders. Got charged with one count each of public disorderly conduct, drug possession, car thief and assault of an arresting officer. He wasn't exactly my typical skip. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Since I was both flat out broke and three months behind on my car note, I considered myself as desperate as they come. Besides, contrary to the charges, his arrest wasn't that bad.

About a month ago, while heavily under the influence, Frankie attempted to jack a car. Unfortunately for him, he didn't notice that he was in fact trying to pilfer a cop car. Nor did he bother to notice the two gentlemen, clearly dressed in cop uniforms, leaning right beside it, talking. One thing lead to another and Frankie ended up kneeing one of the arresting officers in the groin while attempting a heroic escape...into the backseat of the patrol car. Of course, after realizing his mistake and that he was effectively cornered by a couple of pissed of cops, Frankie promptly passed out into a drunken stupor. Probably to avoid the likely inevitability of police brutality he'd receive for nailing a cop in the nads. Anyway, as they were searching him they found a little gift bag containing twelve ounces of weed. Very bad for Frankie, but good for Stephanie! This, plus his other charges, resulted in his bail being set at roughly ten grand. That's a cool thou' for little ole me, with the added incentive of him never being known to carry a weapon or be overly violent. I thought, easy capture, right?

Right.

I should've known something was off when Andy Zabotsky, the bounty hunter who usually went after him, snickered and said "Good luck" as I picked up the file. It took three whole days, a lot of calls and a ton of dead ends to find out why. Frankie was one of those rare drunks who could both think and run while tanked-up. And I mean run. No sloppy, drunken staggering for this guy. No, of all the semi-normal fat over weight drunks in the Trenton, NJ., Frankie had to be a physically fit sprinter who moonlighted as a professional clown. An evil drunken wino clown. Why anyone would want him to entertain near their kids, let alone entertaining their own birthday party, was beyond me.

But, then again, this is the burg and that's where I've caught up to him, the last two times. Frightening kids and old folk alike at birthday parties for cash. After my last failing attempt to apprehend him, a little under a week ago, he's been steadily on the lamb, vowing never to go back to jail and only showing up sporadically at a clowning gig here and there to earn some extra dough. Wouldn't you know it, booze costs money. And you can't be Boozy the Wino Clown without your daily dose of Dr. Jack Daniels.

This time, he was at some old ladies 80th birthday celebration. I won't go into the exact details, but suffice it to say, until about a block ago, I had a gang of old people chasing me down on their motorized scooters. If I thought I could've actually caught-up to Frankie, I'd have tried even harder to "commandeer" one.

"Owiee" I whined, trying to stand back up, but my legs weren't having it.

Whatever notions I entertained concerning movement, my body obviously was ignoring the memo. Especially any orders that involved trying to re-scale that rusty metal fence and walk two whole blocks back down to the retirement center, while dodging irate old geezers. If it had to move, it wanted motivation. Seriously worthwhile motivation. Looked around, I tried to spot something even remotely motivational in the vacant parking lot. Nope. Not a thing. No ice-cream stands, no Hugh Jackson confessing his undying love for me, and no Frankie Copozzi lying facedown in puddle of his own blood. Nope, nothing.

I covered my eyes and groaned. He got away...again. This was bad. Very bad. How the hell could I keep losing a guy who was drunk out of his mind half the time? It wasn't like he was a master strategist or anything.

Thunder echoed off the walls of a close by building. A light sheen of rain started to fall, wetting my face.

I guess that will have to do for motivation.

After what seemed like a small eternity, I pushed myself off the ground and assessed the damage. No cuts. A couple of bruises on both my legs, right arm and shoulder. For the most part, I was physically okay. But my poor jeans didn't make out so well. On my left leg, from the knee on down, was a large jagged tear. Large spots of motor oil had stained my pants in different spots.

I moaned. I _loved_ these jeans. These were my favorite pair! They made my butt look cute and everything.

"_You'll pay for this Frankie!"_ I yelled into the empty lot. "_As God as my witness, you'll--_" a loud clap of thunder roared, cutting me off mid-Scarlet O' Hara impression.

Oh, yeah, I'm on the outs with God right now. "Darn Sunday Morning Mass," I mumbled. Easing my way back over the fence--a lot more gracefully this time I might add--I limped back toward my Escape. By the time I reached my car, it was starting to pour a little harder. I was getting soaked and smelled like a mechanic's garage and could have cared less.

Resting against the driver's side door for a moment, I cursed softly my predicament. I was two, going on three, months behind on my car note, after taking a five month vacation from bounty hunting. After that whole Clyde Cone-webmaster-stalker fiasco six months ago, I'd decided to take a little vacation. A vacation that mainly consisted of sleeping, eating, and weekly visits to the shore. Since I was living with Morelli I didn't have to worry so much about making the rent each month. Which was bliss. Right up until I fell behind one car payment. That wouldn't have normally been a problem, except my post-partum depressed sister neglected to mention to me they hadn't been able to pay my rent for the past...oh....three months! In order to keep my apartment, I had to empty out my entire savings account to less than a hundred dollars and forgo a couple of car notes to make my overdue rent. Morelli volunteered to "loan me the money" if I agreed to "working it off". Of course "working it off" wasn't as fun as it sounded. It required cooking, cleaning, and.....other things in French maid uniforms I didn't normally do. Instead, I've been chasing FTA's day and night trying to earn some cash, but my quest has been hampered by a sudden dry spell of FTA's.

I needed Frankie Copozzi's bail money. He was a thousand dollar ticket just waiting to be taken in. But he just kept getting away! I gazed at my sunny yellow Escape. No way was I letting it get repossessed.

Hitting the top, with resounding 'thunk', I looking up at the sky and screamed at the top of lungs. "You hear me God? I am not losing this car!"

In frustration I kicked at my front tire and turned around. Two old people, under an umbrella, stood six feet way from me staring in amazement.

"What!? You never seen a person talk to God before? This is Jersey for crying out loud. So, what if I talk to myself! You got a problem with that? Huh!? Do you!?" I glared at them both, and took a step forward. They scattered back and ran, or more like shuffled, for cover back into the senior center. Probably to alert the scooter brigade.

Yanking the driver's side door open, I sat down in the car. Flipping the heater on full blast, I contemplated my situation. I needed major help. I needed someone capable of running for long stretches of distance, without getting winded. I need someone incredibly strong. I needed someone to hold Frankie Copozzi's ass down while I pummeled the shit out of him.

I needed...Ranger.


	2. Chapter 02: Batman

Chapter 2: Batman

Banging my head against the steering wheel, I moaned. I wasn't going to call Ranger. I wasn't. I wasn't, I wasn't.....

He answered on the second ring. "Yo."

Bracing myself, I said. "Yo yourself," pausing. "Um...I think I may need your help."

Holding my breath, I waited anxiously for a reaction. You see, I've been avoiding Ranger...for well over four months. In fact, avoiding Ranger was the original inspiration for my impromptu vacation. Well...that and burnout from murdering-psychos. Ever since my...shall we say, 'prank' involving Mrs. Apusenja, her daughter, and a couple of harmlessly misleading statements about Ranger's residential status, he's been out to get me. Of course, after a month or so of no retaliation, I figured he'd decided to let bygones be bygones. _Hah!_ I should have known better.

About four months ago, I walked into Joe's and found a note lying next to Rex's cage.

_Babe, this is your official notice. Paybacks a bitch._

One quick hyperventilation session later, I decided it was in my best interest to avoid Ranger for a little while. You know...Batman out for vengeance and all.

After a moment of tense silence, he laughed. "Clown-boy got away again?" there was a definite smile in his voice.

"Something like that...," smiling myself. It was so sick. Even when I _knew_ he was out for my blood, I still got all tingly inside just from hearing his voice. Sad, but true. Ranger has that kind of effect on me.

"Um. I need some help." I said, waiting for a response.

There was none.

Okay..."Connie told me you were busy with a lot of cases. But, I...um," I trailed off.

Ranger still hadn't spoken. Only complete silence answered me from the other end of the line. Not even the sound of him breathing.

Clearing my throat, I gave it another stab. "So...are Tank, Cal or even Lester available to help?"

More Ranger silence. Oh...boy.

I shifted uncomfortably. Waiting. One minute past by, then another, and still he said nothing.

Hesitantly, I said. "Ranger?"

After a moment, he replied, "Finished?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah. Can you spare someone?"

"Sorry, Babe. Could be a slight problem."

"What problem?"

"My men." he said, simply. I waited patiently for him to elaborate. Then, realized he didn't plan to. Mild annoyance crept over me.

"Yeah, Ranger. What about your men?"

"They're frightened of you, Babe."

I rolled my eyes and turned down the car's heater. "Ranger. I'm not in the mood to be teased."

"I'm not."

I paused. Ohmigod..._he wasn't joking!_ I could tell by his voice. He was serious. Wait a minute? Big strong scary mercenary army men. Men who've seen nearly every tragic, horrible aspect of war and still wanted to work as soldiers, scared, of me?

"Why? How? Me!?" _me?_

"You made one hell of an impression, Babe. They've never heard of a woman who could take out two of my guys in less than an hour. You're a legend. "

Christ! "I'd thought they'd have gotten over that by now," it wasn't like it was my fault a couple of them landed in the hospital guarding me.

"Sorry, Babe. They're still scared of you," Ranger started laughing.

"_Quit it!_ This isn't funny. I need help! Can't you order one of them?"

"Sorry, no can do."

"_Why?" _I yelled.

"They've renegotiated their contracts. According to the new terms, any man I send to assist _you_ personally is required nine times the going rate if injury is incurred on the job. With your record, I'm afraid...Rangeman can't afford...the risk." Ranger could barely get the last part out from laughing so hard. Albeit silently.

Grrr. He is so not funny. "Look. I'm freezing, smelly, and need a bath. I need help. Are you willing to help me or not?" I was pissed, sue me. It's not everyday I chase down a missing member of the Insane Clown Posse down an intersection.

"With the bath or the clown? I'm available for both."

I took a minute to visualize that."...cute Ranger."

"Always, Babe."

Hmm...not touching that. "I need your help finding Copozzi."

He paused for a minute. "What's in it for me?"

"Er.." I was thrown for a loop for a second. He'd never asked that before. "The satisfaction of helping a fellow human bounty hunter?"

"Try again."

"Okay, the satisfaction of helping your Eliza Doolittle?"

"Not interested."

_What the?_ I scrambled for something. kick him around a couple of times?"

He paused. "You're not making a compelling argument for my aid, Babe."

"I've never had to before, why now?" I was starting to feel extremely frustrated.

He didn't answer. "I thought you said you were available!?"

"For the right price."

Price? I narrowed my eyes. "...and that'd be?"

He paused for a moment. "You mentioned a bath?"

I sucked in a breath. Whoa! "Um, on second thought...never mind. I think I can do it on my own. Uh...thanks for offering anyway. Um....." click.

Yikes! I tossed the phone into the passenger seat. Ranger and Bath. Bath and Ranger. Not a bad concept in, and of itself. But a soaped-up Ranger, and a wet me, and..._oh boy_, can't go there. I drove down the street, searching for any stray signs of my skip. It's wasn't like he could blend-in on a busy downtown Trenton street. He dressed as a freakin' clown for God sake. Putting in my Aerosmith CD, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Ranger. I hung up on Ranger.

Wait a minute. _I_ hung-up on Ranger? Repeating the last few moments of my life over. Oh shit, I did! I just hung-up on Batman.

Right. On. Cue.

_Dun-na-dun-na..._

My Batman ringtone. A ringtone reserved for one man and one man only.

_Dun-na-dun-na... _

Ranger.

_Dun-na-dun-na-Bum-bum!_

I stared down at the offending piece of technology.

_Dun-na-dun-na..._

Would answering it be a good or bad thing? Or, maybe. If I try _reeeal _hard to ignore it. It'll go away.

_Dun-na-dun-na..._

And maybe Ben & Jerry's Rockin' Chocolate Rumble will make my ass smaller.

_Dun-dun, Bum-bum!!_

I closed my eyes for a second and groaned. This day just kept getting worse and worse. First demented alcoholic clowns; now, pissed off Cuban mercenaries. What's next? Opening my eyes, something in my rearview mirror caught my attention. A Bronco. A big black...Bronco. A big, black Bronco with Ranger sitting behind the wheel. _Ohmigod! _Immediately, I launched into full blown panic mode. Hoping like hell I was still lying on the ground near that fence, and this was all part of some elaborate hallucination.

So engrossed with watching the pissed Cuban at my back, I momentary forgot that I was behind the wheel of car. The car jerked, as I realized I'd veered up onto the curb, and narrowly missed nailing a vaguely familiar old lady in a powder pink and green jump suit.

Cringing, I righted the car back onto to road, at the same moment my phone stopped ringing. I stared at it in amazement, before cutting my eyes to the rearview mirror. Ranger's Bronco turned a corner and disappeared from sight. I should've been relieved. But, I wasn't. Batman was on my tail and he knew where to find me.

Big question was: Should I worry about it now or later?


	3. Chapter 03: The Deal

Chapter 3: The Deal

Let's see...I wanted McDonalds. I needed a hot shower. And Batman was on the prowl.

Which had priority?

Well...since I couldn't do much about Ranger, and the shower had to wait till I reached home. McDonald's took first place. I drove to the nearest McDonald's and ordered. One double quarter pounder, two super-sized fries, nuggets (for Bob) and a Chocolate McFlurry. Yeah, I know. Sounds like a lot, but you have to take in to consideration I lost about 4000 calories chasing Copozzi around for fifteen minutes. My mighty constitution can't afford to lose so many calories in such a short time span. I could crumble up and di...oh, screw it. I needed a McFlurry. I earned a McFlurry. I will have a _freakin' McFlurry. _

Leaving, I headed straight for home. No. Correction--Morelli's home. My personal hacienda of solitude was still in still in the clutches of my post-partum depressed older sister Val, her two kids from her first marriage and a newborn baby by her new fiancée- Albert Kloughn....who was also living in my apartment. Sigh. Not that my extended stay at Morelli's was _that_ bad. Lot's of nookie, lots of Pino's, only a half dozen serious knock-down-drag-out fights and let's not forget weekly visitations by Grandma Bella informing me of my impending pregnancy/doom. All of which helping me realize why I'm not accepting any marriage proposals, _anytime_ soon.

Instead of parking at the curb, I drove past Morelli's scanning up and down the block for any strange black vehicles.

Paranoid? Who, me?

Satisfied, I made a u-turn back toward Morelli's and parked at the curb. Cautiously, easing out my bag of comfort food, I scanned the perimeter. Still no Ranger...hmph. I was both relieved and disappointed. I'd half expected him to be waiting at the curb...or, at the very least, erupting from the shadows in a flowing black cape. I'd been sorta fantasizing about that last one for a while now. Sigh. Several months of avoiding Ranger had kind of made me a little eager for any personal appearance. Good or bad. Opening the front door, I heard Bob running like a hurricane down the hallway.

"Stop!" I calmly shouted, holding up the McDonalds bag.

Bob stopped mid-stride, mouth open, tail waging high in the air.

"Sit." I commanded.

He sat. I smiled. The dog who couldn't learn one command in obedience school, had learned in six months of my stay how to stop, sit, beg, speak and fetch. How, you ask? I waved the McDonald's bag back and forth, grinning. "Behold. The power of McDonalds."

Locking the front door, I walked up to him, patting his fluffy head gently. "Good boy," I said, scratching his ear. "You're a good dog, Bob."

I walked into the kitchen with Bob right at my heels, slobbering all over the place, and dropped one of the super-sized fries and half the nuggets into his big red doggy-bowl. I barely had enough time to snatch my hand away before he buried his head in the bowl. Turning around, I checked on my other non-human roommate.

Rex was happily doing his thing, running on his hamster wheel. I gave him a couple of my fries for good measure and walked over to the answering machine. Hitting the play button, I listened while digging into the rest of my food.

"_Stephanie? Hello!? Hello? Stephanie, this is your Mother, pick-up. Hello? (sigh) Give me a call when you get home."_

Beep. Uh-oh. I wonder if she already knows about today?

_"Hey Cupcake......(pause)...hold on,"_ I could barely make out the low tones of another man's voice talking. Joe said, _'Christ, what now?'_. Then the voice said something else. Joe yelled _"Shit" _a little too loudly then came back on the phone.

_"Hey, Cupcake. If nothing else goes wrong, I should be back in town by tomorrow evening. For good."_

Beep.

Hmm...that was abrupt. Still, I did a little happy dance. About the time I started my vacation, Joe started traveling back and forth between Philadelphia, New York and Trenton. He was working as an advisor on some case involving FBI and the ATF. This time, he'd been gone for over two weeks in Philadelphia. We'd only had a couple of chances to talk to each other on the phone late at night. I'd seriously been contemplating reneging on my vow of 'no phone sex'. A shower massager can do only so much.

The next call was nothing but a long, blank message. Hmm...now who could that be?

Finishing off the last of my lunch, I tossed the trash, NBA style, into the garbage bin. Dancing happily out of the kitchen, I paused by the front door and peeked out the side window.

Nope. Still no sign of Ranger.

I debated for a moment whether to wait him out, and see if he showed up. Or, take a much needed shower. I was deciding if risking him showing up while I was naked, soapy and this side of horny was remotely a good idea, when I noticed Bob making happy yelping sounds from the den. Walking in to investigate, I halted at the sight of the man in black reclining casually against the couch cushions.

I stumbled, nearly falling on the carpet. Ranger. The man I hadn't seen in five months. Was decked out in all his combat Joe glory, on Morelli's couch with Bob, my ever vigilant watchdog, curled up next to him. Shaggy brown head resting contently on Ranger's left knee.

Traitor.

Looking straight at Bob, I said. "Bad boy, Bob," glancing at Ranger. "Real...bad."

Bob, apparently, could care less. He was more interested in worshiping at the feet of the second generation Cuban-American, Army Ranger/Sex God that is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, a.k.a Ranger.

Alas...how to handle this?

"Yo." I said, weakly.

Ranger didn't reply. Instead, he sat immobile against the right corner cushion, watching me. His face, a blank shroud of Zen serenity, usually only reserved for navigating through Trenton's hectic traffic jams.

Jeez. What does that say about me? That he's has to use the same calming technique for handling Trenton road rage for holding a conversation with me?

Clearing my throat, I waited...and waited...and waited some more. As the moments ticked by, I couldn't help noticing the little changes in his appearance. His hair, normally long and swept back into a ponytail, was now way shorter, and in a business cut. Barely reaching past his ears. Sort of like it was the last time I...Oh, crap. Sorta like the last time I hung up on him.

Clearing my throat again, I made another stab at conversation.

"...so...nice hair cut."

No reply. I mentally cracked my knuckles.

After a couple of seconds, his left hand rose and started rhythmically petting Bob's fluffy head. And..you know, from this angle, he kind of reminded me of what's-his-name evil guy from that James Bond movie. The guy with the white cat. Barely moving his head, he slowly took in my dishevel appearance. Pausing, ever so slightly, over certain areas of interest. You know, my legs, my chest, my legs again, my hair, and my legs again for good measure.

I didn't bother looking down. I knew what he was seeing. My still partially water logged blue flannel shirt. Open all the way, reveling my once white "Got Craps" t-shirt. Shredded and stained pants from my less than graceful fall. Hair that...I wasn't even going speculate on that one.

He leaned over, propping on arm on the armrest, then his head on his knuckles. Ranger's mouth twitched. "Rough day?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Get out!"

I knew I was looking less then my normal Sex Goddess-self, but that didn't mean I'd tolerate any acknowledgment of it. Especially, from a man who'd never know the meaning of 'bad hair day" at any point in his unnaturally sexy life.

I started tapping my foot. "I'm not kidding. Leave. I need a bath."

Ranger raised an eyebrow. "Need help?"

Yes, yesyesyesyesyes. Down Girl. "No."

We stood for a moment watching each other. I hadn't seen him for a while now, so it's understandable why my hormones were scrambling to make-up for lost Ranger-lusting time. A half-dozen fantasy situations involving me, Ranger, and the shower upstairs flashed through my mind. Which was supposedly a bad thing. I'm not sure why exactly, but I knew for some weird reason the image of me wrapped around a naked soapy Ranger, was a bad idea...at least in Morelli's shower it was.

A look of amusement flashed across Ranger's face. Well, it's nice to know Batman's ESP was still alive and kicking.

"Actually, it's your wet t-shirt, Babe."

Looking down, yep, my guys decided to join in the party too. Damn ESP. Damn wet shirt. Damn nipples. Looking back up, I narrowed my eyes. I was about to tell him to get lost, when he started shaking his head. Well, his version of a headshake anyway.

"Babe."

Uh-oh. "...Yeah?"

Shaking his head again, Ranger watched me intently. Looking me straight in the eye, he said. "You're making this entirely too easy."

"Easy?" Ah! Me. A virtual fountain of intellectual repartee.

Ranger's chest rose in silent laughter. Argh! The no good lousy rat fink was laughing at me!

That did it! "That's it. Last time, get out!" I pointed toward the door.

And just like last time, he ignored me. Instead, Ranger shifted his weight so that his back no longer rested against the couch cushion. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a manila folder and held it up. "I'll make a deal with you."

Uh-oh. Ranger deals. Big no-no. Very bad. Though...the little voice inside my head rigorously disagreed. It thought Ranger deals smoked! Whoa! Down girl. Down. Stay focused.

"O-kay," nodding.

"I need your help."

Hmm? "What kind of help?"

"I have a guy in need of distracting."

"Uh-uh," distraction job. Normal so far.....

"You need help with your skip. Correct?"

"Possibly," I edged a little closer to the couch. I started to have a feeling where this was going...

"You help me," he grinned. "I help you."

Yep. It went there.

"Huh?" I said, disbelieving.

He was going to help me?! Just like that! Wait? Just like that? I didn't even warrant another bathtub toy offer? I would have turned it down again, of course. But, still...Ranger started talking, interrupting my thoughts.

".....did say you needed assistance. You assist me with this capture Friday and," he paused, while leaning over to place the folder on the table, "I'll assist you with yours," Ranger stated calmly.

Now, it was my turn to stare. What was going on? I know I hadn't been around him for a couple of months, but with the exception of DeCooch, I'd never had to make a deal with Ranger for his assistance. Nor did he ever have to make a deal with me for mine. What was this about?

"That's it?" I said.

"That's it, Babe."

"You're not going to yell at me for hanging up on you?"

"I never yell," relaxing again. "And never hang-up on me again, Babe," he said, very casually.

Too casually.

I'd avoided him for months. I even hung up on him. And all he wanted to talk about was a job? _What the hell?_

I studied him closely. He appeared so calm. Well, I mean he's always calm, but he was so ... then it hit me. This job, was it possibly? Payback? Ranger's Revenge?

With renewed horror, I watched Ranger reclining against the couch cushions, deceptively relaxed. Was this what he was waiting for? Wait until I need help and, and....

That Snake!

So this was it, huh? This was how he planned to get me? I mean, God. Give me a little credit. No way in HELL was I falling for such an obvious set-up. I definitely stared back at him.

"I don't need your help, Ranger. I can do this on my own. No biggy. Thanks, anyway."

He leaned back into the sofa's cushion, stippling his fingers loosely across his abs. Raising his right eyebrow, Ranger replied. "Really?" his tone was questioning. His eyes amused.

"Yeah. Really." I glared at him for all I was worth.

He paused, then nodding, "Well then," standing up, much to Bob's protest.

"If you change your mind, you have my number."

"I won't." I said, folding my arms across my chest.

He nodded again, as if agreeing. Then said, "Look it over. The details are in the folder." Looking at me, he slowly grinning. "Just in case you change your mind".

Walking within two feet of me, he reached out and tugged one of my frizzled curls. He examined it closely for a moment, while twisting it gently between his fingers tips. Tucking it behind my left ear, he said. "Four months have worked wonders."

Lowering his hand, he examined my face for a moment. Almost, as if he was recommitting to memory each curve, each line, each detail he might've forgotten over the past few months. His eyes roamed across my face a second more, before settling back on my deep blue eyes. I could see a hint of emotion reflecting back from his dark chocolate brown ones. Still wearing his Zen-like mask of serenity, I couldn't for the life of me recognizing what exactly that emotion was. It could've been anything from slight amusement, to happiness to ......something else.

"I've missed you," he said, simply.

I stopped breathing. For a minute, I stood there locked in his gaze, trying real hard to remember why I was angry and why the hell it wasn't such a good idea for him to join me upstairs in the shower.

Looking away from me, he nodded in the general direction of folder on the table.

"Let me know by next Friday," he said.

I absently mumbled,"....okay," before it dawned on me. "Next Friday? That's...halloween!"

He flashed a spectacular 300-watt smile. Leaning forward, he kissed me on the forehead then left. I was reeling. From the little kiss and the fact that agreeing to Ranger's help would involve sacrificing my favorite holiday. That was, of course, if I agreed to it. Which I hadn't, and wouldn't because......

Oh yeah. **_Because_** there was a distinct possibility this job was just cover for an elaborate Ranger retaliation scheme. In fact, more than likely it **_was._**

Walking over to the file, I stared down at it. Nudging closer, I fought with myself on why I should or shouldn't open that folder. If I was smart, I'd ignore it. If I was really smart I'd ask the other bounty hunter Andy to help me. If I was even smarter, I wouldn't have played that joke on Ranger to begin with. Since I wasn't that smart, and I did do it, and I needed his help I'd have to deal with the consequences. Besides ......it wouldn't hurt to take a little peek in the folder. It wasn't like I was accepting the job or anything by just looking at it. Right?

Reaching out, I picked up the folder. As I did, it slipped open and the contents fell across the carpet. Kneeling down, I froze mid-crouch. Of all the items on the floor, one picture of a Halloween costume caught my eye. What the!? I looked it over, then the file. Then, rechecked it again to make sure that I understood it correctly.

Ohmigod, I don't believe this....he wants me to wear.... a Catwoman outfit?


	4. Chapter 04: Why, I'd never agree to this

Chapter 4: Why, I'd never agree to this!? meow

A Catwoman outfit?

A freakin' Catwoman _costume_!? Of all the things he could've choosing on my behalf, he went with a Catwoman costume?

I stared down at the photograph. The costume appeared to be almost an exact replica of the one Michelle Pfifer wore in the second Batman movie. Very tight, very latexee, very....no way!!!

Wonder woman, maybe. Lara Croft possibly. But Catwoman? I cringed. If Ranger really needed Catwoman for a distraction job why not call Jeanne Ellen Burrows? I'm sure she'd just love to wear this...this. Crap, I can't even call it an outfit!

Re-reading the file for a third time, I started to note other glaringly suspicious information absent from the file. Basic things. Like a simple **_name_** and **_address_**. Even the spaces marked for a physical description were empty. I rifled through the folder, looking for a picture ID. No luck.

How was I supposed to ID the guy if I didn't know what he looked like?

Besides a brief explanation of my role, the only other information present in the file was a very long list of crimes charged against the anonymous FTA. One count of carrying concealed, several assault with/without a deadly weapon charges, a manslaughter charge, three suspected assassination... _Assassination attempts!? _

........Well. That settles that. I snapped the folder shut.

Any hope I might've held regarding this being a real, live, legitimate job went up in smoke. As far as I was concerned, there was no legitimate job on this earth requiring me to mush my delicate 5'7" Hungarian-Italian frame into a faux dominatrix costume to entertain some sick unknown assassin. Did Ranger think I'd actually agree to this? That I would for a nanosecond after opening this file believe this was real? That I was so desperate to get Copozzi that I'd overlook the big neon sign that screamed setup? Okay, so he might've been right on that last one, but still, I'm offended. Does he really think so little of me? I was both hurt and pissed that that might very well be the case. Well screw him! I'd take up Morelli's offer to "loan" me the money before I'd ever agreed to this crap.

"In fact, if I ever see-,"the phoned rang, cutting off what could have been a promising rant on why men should be castrated for the good of all womankind. Tossing the folder on the table with a resounding smack, I walked in the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"What!?" that might've come out the slightest bit irate.

"Excuse me!? Is that how you answer your phone now? With 'what'? Honestly Stephanie, you'd think I didn't raise you with better manners than that. Then again, apparently not. Especially if half the things people have called-up to tell me this morning are even remotely true."

Ah. Love that grapevine. "Hi mom. Heard anything interesting?"

"Stephanie, what am I going to do with you? Huh? Tell me, please. Because, I haven't got a clue."

"Hmm...feed me?"

No reply.

"I thought it was a good answer."

I heard my mother inhaled sharply--twice, into the phone line. "Do you know what I've been doing this morning?"

"No...but, I have a feeling it involves ironing."

She continued on, as if I hadn't spoken. "Not studying for my pharmacology exam like I should be. _Oh-no_. You know what I've been up to for the past half-hour Stephanie? I'll give you one guess."

I resisted the urge to sigh. "Answering phone calls?"

"That's right Stephanie. Answering phone calls! Phone calls from people wondering why my daughter's running around downtown Trenton pistol-whipping clowns-"

"_I didn't pistol-whip a clown!_"...though not from a lack of trying.

".....and running over helpless old ladies..."

"Whoa. Whoa. Back-up. I didn't run over anyone!"

"I've heard from four different people, including your Grandmother of all people, how you nearly ran down poor Mrs. Scallion."

"Mrs. Scallion?" visions of an old lady in a powder pink and green jumpsuit flew through my mind.

I groaned. "I didn't hit her, Mom...she was moving too fast," I sort of mumbled that last part.

But, my mother heard it though and was horrified. "_Stephanie Michelle Plum!_"

Well she was.

My mother continued. "What am I suppose to tell people when they call here, huh? "

"That I'll try harder next time?"

She had no reply to that. Hey, I thought that was funny! Of course, my mother on the other hand, was breathing deeply into the phone line. Either she was trying desperately to calm down, or barely holding in her overwhelming impulse to laugh. I was betting on the former.

"Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie. You need to stop doing these things! Does Mrs. Dumbrowski's daughter shoot people? No. Does-'

"Yes she does. She a cop now."

"Cop? What cop? She sits behind a desk all day, filing papers. Something you could be doing!"

Me? File? I grimaced at the image that brought up. Shaking my head, I replied. "Sorry ma, I lack the necessary skills to be file a good file clerk."

"Necessary skills? You're a college graduate. What skills don't you have?"

Opening the refrigerator door, I answered absently. "The ability to bend over more than five times in a row."

"_Stephanie_, be serious!"

"I am." I can't. At least not willingly. Pulling out the last beer, I kicked the door closed and lean against the kitchen's small island.

"Stephanie, you can do better than this," she pleaded. I groan internally and took a good long sip of my beer. I knew what was coming. "I know people. It doesn't have to be in the button factory. I understand that now. You're not a factory girl-"

Ugh. She's started. Slamming the beer down, I said. "Mom."

"But, how about a nice-"

"MOM!" I yelled into phone, stopping her mid-rant. "Remember our agreement?"

Silence. Heh-heh! I did a little happy dance.

Ah yes, the agreement. My ultimate secret weapon. Oh, how I've come to love making it. The "'agreement" as it was referred to, goes something like this: In exchange for my mother never mentioning a change in my choice of employment or future plans of matrimony, I was obligated to bring Joe over to dinner once a week. When Joe's work permitted, of course. It allowed my mother that last glimmer of hope that I'd eventually re-marry and produce my quota of Catholic grandchildren before my eggs dried up.

My mother paused, cried "Why me?" then promptly changed the subject.

"Have heard from your sister?"

"Uh...no," not if I can help it. "Why?"

"She was supposed to drop the baby off this morning. I've been calling your apartment since noon and no one picks up."

I wanted to say she probably hadn't paid the phone bill. Instead I said, "She's probably sleeping Mom. You know how it is with newborn babies and-," she cut me off.

"She's living in your apartment Stephanie."

I groaned. "I know,"boy did I know. "But-,"she cut me off again.

"I'm worried about her. Go check on her."

I rolled my eyes. A day hadn't gone by without my mother thinking something terrible had happen to Valerie, or the girls. When they moved out, my mother was relieved for about 2.3 milliseconds before realizing **_where_** my sister was moving into. Now, not only does Val have to deal with a fussy newborn, but our neurotic mother calling every five minutes to see if she's been murdered or not.

"Sorry Mom, I'm...," looking around the kitchen for a plausible excuse, "I'm kind of busy with cleaning-"

"Busy?" her voice grew progressively louder. "You're 'busy'? You found enough time to run down poor Mrs. Scallion, but can't spare a single second to check up on your only sister? A sister who is still weak and helpless from childbirth."

Oh, God. Not this. "I keep telling you Mom, she is NOT weak from childbirth." ...she's winded from carting around seventy extra pounds.

"She could be lying dead this very moment on your kitchen floor. Only God knows what psycho could have broken into your apartment looking for you and gone after her."

"I have no psychos looking for me at the moment," Frankie didn't count. He was more interested in running from me than hunting me down...then again.

"Alright, I'll go. Satisfied?" I sniffed my clothes. Yuck! I need a shower badly.

"Yes." she said, then none too slyly asked. "Have you heard from Joe?"

"Talked to him this morning." I said, absently, taking off my damp flannel shirt.

"Is he coming home **_soon_**?" she pressed.

If I'd hadn't been distracted with my shirt, I would have known better than to answered truthfully. "He's coming home tomorrow afternoon."

My mother instantly brightened. "Good! Then I can expect to see you both at dinner tomorrow night. "

I reeled. Damage control. "Sorry we've...er...got plans."like Pino's subs and dinner table nookie.

"Stephanie. You do remember our 'agreement'?" Damn. The agreement did have its darkside.

"Yes." I said, weakly.

"Then I'll see you both tomorrow evening." her tone left no room for argument. "Will you be over for dinner this evening?"

"Ooh. Really tempting. But," not if I'm coming over tomorrow.

"Baked chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, pineapple upside-down cake for desert. Extra whipped crème?"

Damn. I couldn't resist that cake and she knew it.

"Sure, Mom." I mumbled.

"Call me when you talk to your sister."

"Okay."

"Your grandmother wants to speak with you."

Great. Finishing my beer, I tossed the can into the garbage bin and started pacing back and forth across the checkered floor tile.

"Stephanie?"

"Yes, Grandma?"

"Did you really try to kill Betty?" by her tone, I'd say Grandma was a little too bit enthused by the prospect.

"No, Grandma".

"Well darn, here goes for hoping it was true. You know, she's stolen a studmuffin I've had an eye on a time or two."

"No I didn't know, Grandma. Sorry....if I see her again I'll give it another shot. Just for you." I fell forward, rested my head against the refrigerator door.

"Oh, that'd be lovely! She power walks every morning from eight to ten. Just let me know and-"

"I was joking!" Sheesh! My grandma's advocating murder...and yet this doesn't surprise me.

She was quite for a moment. "Then so was I, dear."

Yeah right. Moving on. "Are you coming to dinner?"

"Most...likely." Please not another viewing. There's a Ranger's game on tonight. Please, please, please not a....

"Oh, good! I need a ride to a viewing at Stiva's after dinner. They've got Marty Millerman laid up tonight and the place will be crawling with Lodge members."

Crap, a manhunt. That means I'll barely make it home in time for the intermission. What to do? Well, there's the obvious.

"I have to do surveillance for ...someone after dinner." Lie of course.

"With Ranger? That nice young man, with the impressive packaging?"

When did it become packaging? "Yup, Ranger."

"Wahoo! That's even better. Invite him over. I've missed seeing him around here the last few months. You both can eat dinner, and then drop me off at Stiva's on your way. Or if it's a big case I can-"

Danger, Danger. Stephanie Plum.

"He can't. He's has to take care of some business before our stakeout and so I have to meet him there. At the stake out place. Cause that where we always meet for our stake outs. At the stakeout place."

At the stake out place? What has happen to my fibbing ability?

"Hmm...Well then, does that mean you have enough time to drop me off and stay for a little bit? Besides, you know me. I won't stay very long."

No, not very long...just this side of eternity. Not very long at all. Okay, this deserves a definite change in tactics.

"I thought you were still seeing Herman? He can drive, why can't he take you?"...to search for a new boyfriend.

"He's dead. Had a stroke this morning in the park."

"Ohmigod! I'm so sorry."

"Yep, yep...tipped over like a cow, right there on the side walk, while power jogging. Such a shame too. Herman was such a lively one. He could," I pulled the phone away from my ear. I didn't want to hear the next few words she had to say. There was no reason on this earth why I needed to how lively Herman Johnson could be." ...but I'm hoping to find replacement at tonight's viewing. Those Lodge members are such hotties. Well, except for Ronnie Flink and Ned Peters. Never did find Ronnie cute. It's all that hair he's got coming out of his ears and nose. And Loretta told me once that Ned hasn't been able to get his....," God stop her now, "Anyway, Herman would have wanted it that way."

"I'm sure. Listen, I have to go check on Valerie. See you later."

"See you this evening."

Click.

I stared at the receiver, amazed. Less than five hours after her last boyfriend bites the dust, she's on the prowl for another one. Death wasn't even a deterrent for my Grandma's libido.

_Eww..._


	5. Chapter 05: Life Sucks!

Chapter 5: Life Sucks!

I didn't wanna go to my apartment. The thought of walking through there as just a 'visitor', made me feel like some despondent third-world refugee. Plus, it brought of the weirdest feeling that I'd never come back there to live again. Add to that, any kind of visitation would likely require a conversation of sorts with my sister Valerie. And it became a down right vortex of depression.

With a quick shower, I was out the door and on my way to check on Valerie. Driving on autopilot, I mulled over my situation with Frankie. How the hell was I gonna apprehend him without getting help from 'you know who'? He vacated the apartment listed on his bail agreement a month or so ago. And none of his supposed friends or family have heard a peep out of him in weeks. Except for the occasional times he'd turn up at a clowning gig, Frankie was a virtual no show. I knew Ranger could find him. Batman knows everything. But, there was **_no way_** I'd ever agree to his little setup. I mean, C'mon. What plausible reason other then to inflict pain on another human being could there be to have them wear something like**_ that!?_**

I didn't realize I was at my apartment building till I was parked in my coveted space next to the dumpsters. Looking up a my apartment building, I mumbled. "Home, Sweet Home." A little forlorn.

I groaned. How I wanted nothing more than to crawl upstairs and fall into a deep dark coma in my very own bed. As much as I enjoyed Morelli's, it didn't feel like home for me. At least not yet. Maybe it never would. No matter how much of my clothes, snacks, and other stuff stayed there, it still felt too much like Morelli's place and not enough like mine. That wouldn't be much of a problem for...say, an overnight stay or spending time there in the evenings. But after six months of being a semi-permanent resident, it was damn near suffocating.

Walking in, I debated whether to take the stairs or elevator...you know, like there was an actual choice. I took the elevator up to the second floor and walked to my apartment door.

I knocked once. "Val".

No answer. I waited a moment, then knocked again. "Val, You in there? It's Steph."

Still, no answer. Sigh. I open my hand bag a searched for my keys. While searching, I absently grabbed a hold of the door knob. Much to my surprise, it slightly pushed open. I stared at the partially open door in disbelief.

Oh-kay. This was not a good sign. From the doorway the apartment appeared pitch black. I pushed the door open a little more. As it swung, a loud eerie creak echoed from its' hinges. Alright...that's new. I'd never known my door to creak before. I stood there for a split second debating the merits of going in.

I mean really, did I love my sister that much? I was leaning toward 'no' when suddenly; all the things my mother spoke to me about earlier started replaying through my head. Ohmigod! What if some psycho did come looking for me?

Panicked, I yelled out "VAL!?"

Reaching for the light switch near the front door, I flipped it on and gasped. My apartment. My precious, precious apartment was in total disarray. Dirty and clean clothes strung any which way across chairs, table tops, even the television set and lamps hadn't escaped what appeared to be a violent ransacking. I walked into the kitchen. Paper plates and fast food boxes from every restaurant within a ten mile radius littered the kitchen counters. A smell similar to rotten milk reverberated from the area surrounding the kitchen sink. I backed up before my gag reflex could take effect. As I did, I noticed the torn phone line hanging like a rat's tail down the side of the counter. It appeared to have been violently ripped out from the wall jack. Oh God, Val! I left the kitchen, and headed straight toward the bedroom, screaming. "Val! Val? You in there? Val!?"

As I approached, I heard a thumping noise from the other side of the bedroom door. I froze. Okay, that could be either Valerie coming to greet me or....... reaching into my bag, I fumbled around for something-anything- to use as a weapon. I heard more thumping noises from behind the bedroom door.

Gum. Lipstick. Hair brush. A can of....hair spray? Pepper spray?

The bedroom door opened. Yikes! Mute point now. Aiming the can toward the doorway, I stood ready and waiting for whatever came through...then immediately froze in fright. Oh, dear _GOD!_ Val, my poor, fifty year old--sorry--thirty-two year old sister was leaning against the door frame. Half dressed in jogging pants, fuzzy slippers and a pink frilly bathrobe, yawning. I looked her up and down. My God, she had bags the size of Texas underneath her eye lids. Her natural brown roots, which I'd been convinced I'd never see again, were threatening to overtake her blond Meg Ryan dye job.

She squinted at me and mumbled, half asleep, "Steph? What are you doing here? What's the matter?"

I stared at her, and then looked back at my den, then her again. Now how was I supposed to keep from responding to a loaded question like that?

I turned around and examined my poor apartment again, silently whimpering. I put the can of...well, who would have thought, I had it right...pepper spray back into my purse. I had to. The urge for vengeance on behalf of my poor apartment was too strong.

I cleared my throat twice, before speaking. "Mom's been calling all morning". Nodding in the general direction of the phone line.

Val groaned, rubbing both her eyes with the palms of her hands. "I needed some rest. The baby sleeps only two hours at a time. And Mom calls every thirty minutes."

The baby started crying from the bedroom.

"See," Val sighed and walked back into the bedroom, coming out a moment later holding the baby. Bouncing her up and down she said, "Steph, I need some sleep. Could you please take the baby over to Mom's?"

After a moment the baby calmed down, and then Val handed her over to me. Looking into the face of my youngest niece, I was panic-stricken. I knew what would happen if I showed up there alone, with the baby. Mom would threaten me with food until I agreed to watch the baby for her. She had some misguided belief that my mothering instinct would take hold the longer I was in contact with Valerie's baby.....which was happening right this moment. She was just the cutest most adorable little baby! I had to have one. _Now!_

The smell from the baby's diaper reached my nostrils, effectively bringing me back to the realm of sanity. I had only one clear thought at the moment. I could **_not_** be left alone with this child! Last time I spent more that two hours alone with her, I started contemplating how to punch holes in Morelli's condoms (like...grrr...a certain _someone_ mention before) without him noticing. And that was after two hours of contact. What would an entire afternoon do to me?

I held the baby away like kryptonite, "I have an idea! Why don't I take you **_both_** over to Mom's? I was going over there for dinner, anyway. You can take a nap upstairs while Mom watches the girls?" Val didn't look very convinced. The baby made a cute gurgling noise and I started to panic even more.

"Albert was going to pick-up the girls from there anyway, right? Right?" Shaking my head.

Both Angie and Mary Alice walked to our parents' house after school. Their school was much closer to their home than my apartment.

"Yeah" she said, softly. Yes! That got her. Looking around the living room, she finally started to look embarrassed by the state of the apartment. She casually started picking clothes off the floor and laid them down on the couch. After a few seconds, she started crying.

Uh-oh. Post-Partum sniffle fit coming on.

"You're such a good sister....sniffle.... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Boy.... if she only knew how close I'd actually come to macing her.

She reached over and caught me up in a bear hug. "Val," I clawed at her arm. "Val, I can't breathe. Val!"

She let me go, and sniffled. "Sorry."

"No problem," I choked out.

She took the baby back into the bedroom to change its diaper and get dressed. I sat in my den, closed my eyes and clicked my heels three times, whispering, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home," in some vain hope I'd wake-up in my bed and the current state of my apartment/job/life would just be a dream. I opened them and looked around. My apartment was still the same as it was two minutes ago. So was my life, my job, my car...Phooey.


	6. Chapter 06: Uhoh

Chapter 6: Uh, oh. Here comes a plot!

_Riiiiiing!_

Huh?....What?

_Riiiiiing!_

It took me a moment. But, eventually my sleep deprived brain registered the source of the ringing. A phone. An stupid evil phone. I groaned. Darn thing. Always ruining a good time. And just when Zorro was about to teach me how to properly handle his 'sword'. I dared to open my eyes just a smidgen, then became momentarily confused by the sight of a completely empty Pino's Pizzeria Box sitting on table? Blinking rapidly, I wondered how the coffee table from the den manage to make it up the stairs to the bedroom?

Lifting my head up from the crook of my arm, I looked around. It hadn't. I, on the other hand, was still curled up on the couch in the exact same position I'd collapsed into the night before. The phone kept ringing. Sighing, I laid my head back down on my arm and waited for the machine to pick-up. After the sixth consecutive ring in a row, it hit me. It wouldn't. I groaned loudly. As soon as I stepped foot through the front door last night, I'd ripped its' cord from the wall socket. You see, there was just a teeny-tiny possibility my mother wanted to talk to me. You know, a nice mother-daughter discussion on how I could let Grandma set _fire_ to the _men's_ room at Stiva's. Call me crazy, but I don't think she'd be interested in knowing how or why Grandma locked herself in there in the first place. Nope, closing my eyes. Plenty enough time for that at dinner tonight.

After a moment, the ringing stopped. I relaxed back into the couch.

It began again.

Argh!

Sitting up, I winced. The entire lower portion of my body was throbbing (in a bad way). Courtesy of my impromptu two block run after Copozzi. Looking around the den, I wondered what a modern Jersey girl like myself was to do? Light whimpering noises brought my attention back to the couch. Ah, yes. Bob. My ever faithful/traitorous hound, was doing his best to appear comatose as he curled into a big red ball of fluff at the end of the couch. It was a very convincing act. He's had many a morning practicing his routine on Morelli, trying to avoid his daily walk. I knew better.

Shaking him with my foot, I cajoled, "Go get it boy. Fetch the phone. Come on, go get it". Six rings later and a promise of a McDonald's breakfast, Bob still hadn't moved.

"ARRRGHH!" I rolled of the couch and walked into the kitchen, whining every single step. I stood for a moment, glaring down at the phone. You'd think a decent individual would have hung up by now!

Snatching the phone from the cradle, I barked, "What!?" into the receiver.

"Jeez, Steph. What took you so long!?"

What the? "Connie?"

"Steph, Listen. You gotta come down here now. I mean right now! "

"Why?"

She pause, I heard Lula whispering something real low in the background. She came back on the line and said. "Just get here, quick. Alright!?" Click.

I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at the receiver. What was that about? Setting the phone back down, I checked the time on the microwave clock. 10:02 a.m Wonderful. Just wonderful. This was definitely going to be one of those days. With a quick checking on Rex, I shuffled back into the den, passing a hungry looking Bob.

"You had your chance." I grumbled, shuffling passed him.

He whined. I ignored. Taking a quick shower, I finished dressing in my usual attire of flannel shirt, blue jeans and Doc Martins. Hiding my hair underneath my Seal's cap, I was set and ready to go. Getting Bob's leash, I took him next door to Mr. Crafter to dog-sit for the day. He was 63, retired, loved dogs and had plenty of food. He was the perfect babysitter for a lazy Bob.

Making one quick coffee and donuts stop, I drove onward to the office. Pushing open the front door, I caught both Connie and Lula hunched over behind the desk, heatedly debating. I noted Lula must be still be on an orange kick this week. Hair, nails, baby-doll dress and heels were in various shades of bright neon orange. After a moment, they paused, sniffed the air, and slid their eyes over toward me--or more accurately my box of donuts.

I held the box up. "You see these," shaking it, "You get none, till you tell me why I'm here."

Lula eyed the box and smirked. "Hmph, if I wanted that box from you ain't no way you could stop me."

I smiled. "You're probably right, but....seeing as how I'm right here next to the door," nudging suggestively toward it.

"Girlfriend, please. You about as likely to run as me," but, contrary to her words though. Lula had slowly shifting in her seat preparing herself for an impending assault.

Eek! I looked back at the door. I could probably make it back to my car before she reached me. But that wasn't a certainty. Lula could really move if properly motivated. Besides, fleeing would probably require running of some form. And really, didn't I do enough of that yesterday?

I conceded. Placing the donuts on the desktop as a peace offering, I turned to Connie.

"Why were you call--," she cut me off.

"Guest who just left Vinnie's office twenty minutes ago?"

I rolled my eyes, opened my mouth to say "goat" but she cut me off again.

"And before you say it. It was neither Ranger, Joyce, Harry the Hammer, or a goat."

Shaking my head, "Then I've got nothing."

Leaning forward, she said, "Vito Grizolli."

I stopped eating, blinked, then stared back at Connie. "Run that by me again?"

Grinning, she leaned back and started filing her nails. "THE Vito Grizolli and his 'associates' came in here to have a little 'talk' with Vinnie."

Vito Grizolli. Trenton's own version of Don Corleone. The Trenton Mob may not be that powerful, but you still made an effort not to cross them.

"Wow." Thought for second. "Why would-" Then stopped. I knew.

"Terry" I said flatly.

About a month ago, Terry Gilman was busted and charged with carrying concealed. And, seeing as how we're the Grizzoli's bonding company of choice, Vinnie bonded her out. This wasn't the first time a Grizolli has graced our establishment. A couple of years back, I helped Ranger bring in one of Vito's nephews when the little douche bag decided to miss his court date. If Vito paid Vinnie a visit, I'd bet my brand new sparkly black FMP's it had to do with Terry.

Connie and Lula both nodded.

"Missed her court date this morning," Connie said, picking up her coffee. "In fact, about the time she _should've_ been in court, Vito was here 'informing' Vinnie that Terry wouldn't be able to make it. Apparently, she's out of town on a 'business' trip."

"Wow." Business? I looked over to Vinnie's door. "Can he hear us?" I whispered. Vinnie tends to wire up the office from time to time.

Lula shook her head. "He gone. The little chicken-shit took the rest of the day off after Vito's visit. Said he needed some time to himself. Hmph, if you ask me, he's probably down the block with a stray poodle or something."

Yuck! And possibly true. It was well known fact that Vinnie would screw just about anything that could bark, moo, or quack. Hence his screwing Joyce Barnhart. She had the lovely talent to do all three.

A slightly uneasy feeling crept over me, but I knocked it away. "So...has he assigned her file to anybody yet?"

I was curious, sue me. I _am_ a burg girl after all. Who would Vinnie give her file too? Ranger maybe? I was most **_definitely_** off the list of contenders. I wanted no part in the apprehension of one Terry Gilman, Mob Hitwoman for hire. Don't get me wrong. It's not like I haven't had fantasies about pepper-spraying, stun-gunning, and cuffing Terry to Big Blue's bumper, while kicking her around a couple of times with my Doc Martins.

What girl hasn't?

But a real chance to apprehend the granny killer was another matter entirely. She'd more likely shoot me before I'd ever find my can of pepper spray.

"Nope." Lula said, while devouring another donut. "I got the feeling that's what this morning's little 'talk' was about."

Oh well. I turned to Connie. "You got any new skips for me?"

Nodding her head, Connie pulled a folder from beside the computer and handing it to me. "Yeah, and this one you've done before."

I opened up the folder. Ah, yes. David Smith. Charged with (what else) domestic violence. Tended to bat his girlfriend around while intoxicated. During the last apprehension, he kept referring to Lula as one "ugly looking Mother Love impersonator" a few too many times. This eventually resulted in a good long zapping and two kicks to his family jewels. Easy apprehension, not a lot of money though.

Waving the file at Lula, I said. "David Smith. You wanna help?"

"Fuckin' A," Getting up from behind the desk, Lula walked back to the cabinets. With a hard kick, the bottom drawer popped open. Reaching down, she pulled out her .45 magnum, fully loaded with hydroshock bullets.

I rolled my eyes. She was as likely to use that thing as I was. But hey, I didn't _dare_ try to stop her from carrying it. Oh, no. Not me. I decided it was in my best interest some time ago to stop asking her to leave the guns behind. Lula made a very persuasive argument--while sitting on me, of course-- that one of us should be armed at all times. To breathe again, I would have agreed to anything.

Waving goodbye to Connie, we exited the office.

Lula started grinning a little too wide as we neared my car. "So...seen Batman lately?"

Unarming my alarm, I said. "Yeah." Then, quickly opened the door and sat down.

Getting in, Lula looked over at me, expectantly. "And?"

Connie, who had a front row seat to the whole revelry between Ranger and Mrs. Apusenja, filled Lula in on it afterwards. Since then, both Connie and Lula have waited with bated breath to see how Ranger would retaliate. I can't tell you how nice it is having friends who clearly care about your well being. Really, I can't.

Pulling away from the office, I said, "He wants me to help him with a skip next Friday."

Lula stared back at me in disbelief. "That's it?"

I twisted the steering wheel underneath my hands and kept facing forward. Lula watched me for a couple of seconds, gears turning in her head, then her eyes grew round. "There's more!"

I kept looking forward. Totally engrossing myself with the roadway traffic and doing my best deaf woman impression. Lula half twisted in her seat and fixed a stony glare on me.

After a minute, I said. "I bought you donuts."

"So you did," her gaze intensified. After a moment, I started to feel the faint pressing of some invisible force against my skull.

I swallowed, then I took a quick glance in Lula's direction. "I don't have to tell you anything if I don't wanna." So there!

"Of course not." She said, reasonably. Her gaze intensified. As did the invisible force pressing against my skull.

We sat like that for two whole minutes before I sighed and cracked like a blond mob snitch. Sticking only to the bare facts, I said. "I needed help with a skip. I called Ranger. He stopped by Joe's. Proposed a deal. I help him. He helps me. I have until Friday to respond."

Lula paused, and then whistled. "What he need you to do?"

Stopping at the light, I gripped the wheel tightly. "I'm not sure. I know it involves distracting someone in a costume. Besides that, I haven't got a clue." Please, please don't ask about the costume.

She perked up. "Costume? What costume?" Dang!

I looked over at Lula and froze mid-reply.

"_Him!"_


	7. Chapter 07: Oh, ! It's him!

Chapter 7: Oh, _!#$ It's him!!_

Lula whipped around and followed my gaze. "Him who?"

"Copozzi! The skip I needed Ranger's help with!"

It was him alright! Copozzi was driving alongside us in a grey Ford F350 pick-up truck, neither was he hidden behind any of his usual clown crap. Copozzi was slowly bobbing his head, up and dow, to some tune by Godsmack that blared from his trucks' speakers.

Noticing Lula glancing at him and he smiled....then stopped when he noticed me too. His eyes bulged out of their sockets when recognition set in. Mouthing the word "Bitch", he gripped the steering wheel of his truck--**hard**-- just as the light turned green. Yikes! I floored it passed him. His F350, with it double set of tires, dwarfed my tiny 03' Escape. Gaining on me, he served and rammed into the backside of my Escape causing the car to jerked and nearly swerving off the road. Turning the wheel madly, I hit my brakes. _Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap.... _

"What the-"Lula yelled, as he rammed us again--** harder**. For a second, my car completely skidded onto the shoulder. Instead of taking the opportunity to floor it past us to freedom (like a sane FTA), Copozzi slowed down and moved right behind us. I watched him from the rearview mirror as he started to speed up again.

"_Crap!_" I yelled.

Copozzi rammed into my back bumper, jerking Lula and me forward. Slowing down a bit, he sped up and did it again. As he slowed down for a third attempt, Lula reached down into her handbag and pulled out her .45.

Oh no. "Lula don't-"

"Like hell!"

Not bothered by insignificant details such as my windows or the safety of innocent pedestrians, Lula shot three times through the glass of my rear window. The first two bullets hit his hood and rendered me partially deaf. The third shattered his front windshield, causing him to skid and hit his brakes. After a moment, he launched his car into reverse. Quickly pulling over to the side of the road, I watched Copozzi backed up several feet. A golden Nissan Maxima and a blue Ford Mustang blared their horns as they swerved to avoid getting hit.

I turned to Lula. "What are you, Crazy!? You can't shoot at people on a crowded street!"

Waving the gun in my direction, she said. "I wasn't shooting _at_ people. I was shooting _at_ the FTA. Besides, it stopped him from ramming us again didn't it!" Ohhh, no. I quickly pushing the gun out of my direction before Lula could _mistakenly_ blast my head off.

Biting back a slew of curse words and I watched Copozzi from my rearview mirror. He was bent over on his side, fumbling around for something in his passenger seat. After a moment, he sat-up straight and started moving again. Switching to the adjacent lane, his grey F350 sped up. As he closed in on my parked car, I saw the shiny glint of a sawed off shot gun reflecting from his left hand.

Jesus H. Christ. _When did he get a freakin' gun!?_

"Oh, shit!" Lula noticed it too.

Ducking down, with her gun still out. Lula and I both squished down as close to the floorboard as we could manage before Copozzi pulled along side us and promptly started busting caps through each of my Escape's windows.

BOOM! "You hear me, Bounty Hunter!?" Copozzi yelled, in between shots BOOM! "I ain't going back to jail!" BOOM! "I ever see your face again!" BOOM! "That's what you'll get between the eyes!" BOOM!

With each shot fired, shattered glass reined down on top of Lula and me. After the last shot, he gunned his engine and sped-off, out of sight. I stayed motionless. Still covering my head with my hands, as I laid curled up on the cars' floor board. Breathing deeply, I started shaking my head. I wasn't gonna look. Looking made it real. If stayed like this long enough, I'd realize this was a hallucination caused by too much carbon-monoxide poisoning from my car heater.

After a few minutes, Lula dared to sit up. Looked around, she whistled. "_Shee-it, girl_! He done really fucked up your car!"

1...2...3...4...5...

"Lu...la..."

6...7...8...9...10...

Lula was looking down at me. I glared back up at Lula. Slowly inching toward the passenger side door, Lula blindly grabbed for the door handle. I moved to sit up. As I did, she dashed out, leaving my windowless passenger side door swing in the breeze. I watched it for a moment, then turned around and faced forward.

By some small miracle my front windshield had survived the onslaught of bullets. Taking a deep breath, I turned around hoping beyond hope that it wasn't the only one. I whimpered. _It was._ Not a single other window in my Escape remained whole. Only small jagged shards of glass still attached to the base of the windowpanes remained intact. The rest of my precious glass windows were scattered across the top of the seats, dashboard and carpet floor. Slowly breathing in and out, I opened my car door. Glass crunched underneath my Doc's as I set foot on the concrete shoulder. Even more poured off me as I stood up.

Looking around, I noticed Lula standing thirty or so feet away, behind a telephone pole, searching through her handbag. Ignoring her for the moment, I walked around my car examining every shattered window, every dent and every bullet hole. My...car....was _totaled_! I started shaking my head. _It was one mass God. Really one mass! I made it up that Wednesday. I haven't missed one since. You didn't have to do this! _I didn't realize I was speaking out loud until Lula started walking back toward me, trying her best to conceal the stun gun in the palm of her right hand.

"Stop" I said. Raising my hand in a 'stop' motion.

Lula froze and watched me as if I were a rabid bear. With my teeth tightly clinched, I said. "I'm not angry with you. _Really_. I'm not angry." See. Not angry. Me _real _calm. Though strangely, Lula wasn't as convinced. I tried to produce what I hope was a convincing smile, and Lula several steps backwards.

"I didn't know he had a gun." she said.

I shook my head once. "Neither did I," my voice came out sort of tight, and high pitched. Kinda like when you're holding back laughter.

She continued. "You don't usually get the ones with guns. How was I to know he was gonna shoot back! They never shoot back!"

"Didn't know he had one. Non-violent offender." The insane hysterical kind.

She nodded a couple of times. then after a moment, she lamented. "Sorry about the back window."

"It's fixable." I said, voice still tight.

Lula nodded once. We stood like that for about three minutes. Finally, breaking the silence, Lula turned to me and nonchalantly asked, "So...you...um, gonna report this? I don't think you need to report this. You're car ain't that bad. No need to bring the cops in for something so small as a drive-by. Ain't like this is the first time your car has been..." Lula waved toward the car. "um...like this."

I swallowed and took a deep breath, then glared back at Lula. My left eye choosing that moment to start twitching. Taking a step backward, Lula scanned the area for the nearest cover. In the distance, the steady blaring of police sirens could heard coming closer.

Perfect. "Don't have too." I sighed.

Closing my eyes, I finally admitted defeat. Instead of taking that one last step toward a nervous breakdown, I walked back to the Escape, picked up my cell phone and dialed.

"Yo".

"I agree to the deal."


	8. Chapter 08: Meowmeowmeow

Chapter 8: Meow-meow-meow....

Ranger paused. "....Hold on."

I looked back at Lula who was shifting from one foot to foot, as the sounds of the sirens grew louder.

"Babe.....just got word. Yellow Ford Escape and a Grey F350 were involved in a shoot out on Victory...please tell me this isn't you?"

Damn Batman's bat-radar. "You know _damn_ right it is!" Yes, I'm just a wee bit cranky.

All traces of amusement disappeared. "You okay, Babe?"

"Just peachy." Biting off each word.

Ranger paused. "Meet me at Big Jim's tomorrow. Noon." Click.

I snapped my cell phone shut. Alright, deal with the devil made.

_What else?_

As expected, the cops arrived. Lula disappeared. I got interviewed, then hazed by Carl and Big Dog. Pool winnings were distributed. Pictures were taken. Some, I might add, of cops in less than dignified poses in front of my bullet ridden car. My insurance guy came, cried and walked off to parts unknown. They tried to tow my car away for evidence, but I stopped them. I need my car. It maybe missing five out of six windows and sporting a couple of bullet holes, but it still worked. If I let them take it away, I'd be stranded without a mode of transportation. Even if I was willing to drive Big Blue around for awhile, I couldn't. My sister was currently using it... just like my apartment. _Grrr!! _

Carl and a couple of the guys stayed behind and helped me clean away as much of the glass as possible. It took the better part of the afternoon before I was able to drive off again. On my way to Morelli's, I realized (amazed in fact) how relaxed I felt. My car was windowless, I had agreed to participate in a revenge plot against me and I was officially contracted to apprehend another nutjob. All in all. I should be completely depressed.

Instead...I kind of felt...peaceful. I started smiling. Making enough money to payoff my car note was no longer a priority. The insurance money would take care of that. No need to avoid Ranger any longer. He'd have his fun Friday and our relationship would be back to normal. Copozzi....well, two out three worries eliminated wasn't bad. A giant weight suddenly lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in _weeks_, I was totally relaxed.

As I turned down the street, I noticed Joe's red Toyota Tacoma parked in the driveway. I nearly smacked my forehead. With all the stuff earlier I'd forgotten Joe world be home this evening. Pulling-in beside his truck, I got out and felt the hood. Hmm...slightly warm. He must've just gotten home not that long ago.

Letting myself in, I called out his name. "Joe?"

No answer. Using the sounds of ESPN sport center as my guide, I walked down the hall and into the den and found a very knocked out Joe, stretched out across the couch. Arm dangling lazily off the side, while the rest of his upper body lay underneath his black sport coat. Quietly, I eased around the couch, and stifled a giggle. Bob's shaggy red body mirrored Morelli's exact pose perfectly, on the carpet floor right in front of the couch.

Aww, this was too cute for words.

Careful not to disturb Bob, I kneeled down next to Joe's head and looked him over, frowning. Joe appeared to have not shaven in the last few days...maybe, even a week? His right hand was wrapped tightly in medical gaze and the remnants of a still fading bruise lingered across his left cheek. I lifted up his jacket. His light blue dress shirt was ruined. Ripped, stained and it smelled strongly of....yuck! Whiskey? I laid the coat back over his shoulder. W_hat the hell happen to him?_

Bending closer to his ear, I whispered his name and he briefly stirred. Bending closer, I lightly kissed his forehead. _That_ woke-up a bit. I smiled down at him and started kissing the bridge of his nose...his forehead again...and then, a nice long kiss on his lips. As I came away, Joe started smiling.

Running my fingers through his hair, I watched him slowly wake up. Putting my hand on his un-bruised cheek, I softly whispered, "Joe." and he widen his smile, then murmured. "Not now Terry. Steph'll be home soon."

All feelings of nurturing and goodwill flew out the window. Eyes still closed, he started chuckling. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I gave it a **Good. Hard.** **_Yank_**.

"OUCH!" Joe jerked straight up, half falling off the couch onto poor Bob. Who, startled, rolled under the coffee table, jumped and fled up the stairs. When he'd jumped, the table and all its' contents (cheesedoodles and beer) flew all over the place.

I stood up, arms crossed, glaring as only we Burg girls can. "Not funny Morelli!"

Half standing, with one knee still on the couch, Morelli rubbed the top of his head glaring back, as only burg men can. After a moment, he started grinning. Deliberately looking me up and down, his eyes filled with mischievous heat.

_Uh-oh_. Taking a step back, I twisted and ran straight for the front door. I got about two steps away, before Joe caught me by the waist and pulled me to him. I yelped, as he lifted me off the floor and over his shoulder.

Placing my hand on his back, I yelled. "Put me DOWN, Morelli!!"

Joe steadfastly ignored me. Instead, he jiggled me around a bit, trying to level me out across his shoulder.

"JOE!" I screamed. "This isn't a good day to be doing this!"

Copping a cheap feel under the guise of securing an arm around my thighs, Joe replied. "Say something, Cupcake?," Shifting me across his shoulder like a rifle. "Can't hear you. Speak louder!"

"Arrrggh!" I screamed. I started hitting the small of his back to the tune of "put-me-down-now" then stopped. Lifting up his shirt tail, I noticed his ribs were wrapped in more white medical bandages.

Touching it, I asked. "What happen to you?"

"Fight. Work related," Joe said.

Fight? "Work related? I thou-"

Interrupting me, Joe answered, "Yep. Work related. No more questions, Cupcake," swinging around, Joe started for the stairs.

I tried to speak again. "I thought you were just an advis-," Joe cut me off with a none too gentle, _smack_ on the ass.

"**_OUCH!_** That **hurt** Morelli!"

Touching his scalp, Joe replied. "I know the feeling."

Morelli was half-way to the staircase, with me in tow whining about my rights and such, when we both froze at the sound of, "_Joseph Anthony Morelli._"

Joe paused mid-step, nearly tripping. _Gee_...I guess somebody forgot to lock the front door. Using both hands, I pushed up off Joe's back, while trying to shaking the hair from my eyes. Both Mrs. Morelli and Grandma Bella stood at the dens' entrance sharing identical expressions of disproval.

I watched them both with growing horror. Well_..._mainly growing horror of Bella's slowly squinting eyelids. My mouth gapped open for a second, closed, and then produced a false, teethe smile. "_Hello_, Mrs. Morelli....Grandma Bella," Nodding to them both.

Grandma Bella stared up at me. Both brown eyes had narrowed into mire slits.

_Yikes!! _

I patted Joe's back nervously, in a silent order to put me down. Joe's only response was a frustrated groan that resonated throughout his entire body....hmmm...I guess sex fiends don't like being interrupted mid-pillage and plunder.

Mrs. Morelli looked up at me an smiled. "Hello Stephanie. **_Joseph_**, put her down **_now_!"**

Joe swung around with me still laid out across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Hefting me higher, Joe said "**NO**! What do you want?"

Mrs. Morelli looked aghast. "**_Joseph!_**"

"I told you, didn't I? I had a vision of _this!_ That Joseph was doing something_ sinful_ and _immoral_". Grandma Bella was looking directly at me during that last bit. What? Now I'm 'something _sinful_ and _immoral_'?

Joe, the ever tactful one, said, "If you knew. Why didn't you wait until I finished?"

Rolling my eyes, I mumbled. "Oh, just shoot me now."

"Joseph Anthony Morelli. I won't tell you again," Pointing to the carpet. "Put her down, now!"

Joe shook, groaned, but eventually caved in and set me on the floor. Heh-Heh. An Italian mother always wins.

Joe whipped around. Mildly irritated and just a dab frustrated. "_What?!_"

Mrs. Morelli, use to dealing with wild frustrated Morelli beasts, didn't back down. She looked Joe in the eye. "You have to ask _that_? I'm your mother. I haven't seen you in over three weeks and....what's the matter with your face?"

"Nothing."

Mrs. Morelli took a moment, checking the rest of him out. "Your clothes. Your hand-"

He cut her off. "Nothing, Ma. Work related."

I looked Joe over again. Besides the bruised cheek, bandaged hand and ribs he had no other signs of visible injury. Mrs. Morelli was about to say something else, when Grandma Bella's head rolled back and she let out a loud moan. Mrs. Morelli blew out a sigh and snapped, "Not _now,_ Bella."

Bella let out one long, awkwardly loud moan. Snapped her head back up, both her eyes clouded over as she pointed two gnarled fingers directly at Joe and me. "I had a vision."

Groans filled the room. Really...who here _hadn't _seen this coming?

Looking straight at me, Bella said. "I saw you shrouded in flames," _Crap_. Not again.

Pointing to Joe. "And _you!_ You I saw with that _Blond Harlot!_"

The "Blond Harlot" was Bella new pet name for Terry Gilman...or rather old pet name. She used to call Terry that to her face back when Joe used to "date" her. I glanced back at Joe, who was extremely busy grinding his teeth into his lower jaw.

The phone rang. _Salvation!_ Backing out of the room, I said "I'll get it!'

It was my mother. Wondering what happen to my car, why I was late for dinner, and bunch of other crap, including something about burning men's restrooms. I apologized to her, told her we'd be there in fifteen minutes, to start without us and hung-up.

By the time I came back into the den. Mrs. Morelli and Grandma Bella were on their way out the front door. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk to him, again. I promise," Joe said, shutting the front door. Joe locked it, then double checked the latches before turned to me.

"Him?"

Joe shook his head and walked past me. "Nobody. Who was on the phone?"

Nobody? I watched him go into the kitchen. "My mom. We're late for dinner."

Joe shouted from the kitchen. "_Cancel it!_"

I yelled back. "_Can't._ We made an agreement_, remember!_"

Walking back into the living room, Joe let out a groan. Hmm...he seemed to be groaning a lot lately. Grabbing me my waist, Joe pulled me against him "You feel this?"

Wow! _Did I!? _

"Two plus weeks of walking around like this." he said, then kissed me. I mean _really _kissed me. Two plus weeks of my own pinned-up hormonal frustration came pouring out as well. After a moment of heavily breathing, I nodded.

"Dinner can wait."


	9. Chapter 09: It's all down hill from here

Chapter 9: It's all down hill from here, folks!

The phone was ringing....and I didn't _care_! I was in an extreme state of Morelli induced, orgasmic Zen. Even the knowledge that there'd be hell to pay for missing dinner last night with my parents, didn't faze me. I reached for Joe and was instead greeted to the sensation of sheets long cooled. Cracking my eyes open just a tad, I gazed at the clock-radio. 9:15 a.m.

Joe's probably been at work for hours already. The phone kept ringing. Groaning, I seriously contemplated the fine merits of _getting up_ versus _staying put, _when the phone abruptly stopped ringing and saved me the trouble.

Yippee! Repeatedly rolling over until I was nicely incased in a cozy cocoon of blankets and sheets, I sighed in contentment.

Eventually, I'd have to getup. Didn't want too, but I had too. A psycho clown was walking around out there, **_begging_** to be "mistakenly" run over by a sunny yellow bullet-ridden Escape. And there was Ranger, who wanted me to meet him for lunch at big Jim's. And last, but not least, my mother. Who was probably a little bit peeved at me about now. I groaned. I'd either have to show up tonight with Joe or I'd never hear the end of it.

I sighed. But...last night was worth it. Except for the pain in his ribs, Joe had been up to his usual standards. Though...every time I did try to ask him about his ribs, he'd find several very effective ways to shut me up. Now...without him conveniently here to distract me though, I wondered again. _What happen to him?_ Joe's assignment was that of an advisor to a case involving the FBI and ATF. Homeland security or something. What kind of advising was he that led to fist fights?

I couldn't wonder for too long. The call of nature was starting to make me squirm and I was forced to depart from my little blanket cocoon. Stretching, I made my merry little way over to the bathroom. After a long relaxing shower/shampoo combo, I dressed in my Jersey Girl Bounty Hunter Uniform, a.k.a flannel shirt, jean and Doc Martins, then headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, Rex was happily running n his wheel, oblivious to his surroundings. Tapping the side of his cage, I dropped a couple of raisins in for his breakfast. Rex slowed for a moment, twitched in a silent 'thank you', then continued running his marathon.

Next to his cage was note.

_Bob's next door, See you this evening._

_Joe_

...eh? I looked around. Aaah...me--being the astute master of my surrounding that I am- was just now noticing Bob's absence. _However_, my superior powers of deduction didn't fail me when locating the Tasty Bakery Bag next to the microwave.

Opening it up, I breathed it the sugary goodness. _God Bless Morelli._

Fixing some coffee, I enjoyed my Boston Creams, moaning as I devoured each donut.

This was definitely the start of a perfect day.

The phone rang.

Pity my lovely morning had to end.

Checking the caller ID display, I recognized the number for Vinnie's and picked up.

Connie's voice came over the line. "_Steph?_ Where've you been? I've been calling all morning," she shouted, trying to talk over the background noise.

"Sleeping...who's that yelling in the background?"

She sighed into the phone. "Vinnie and Lula."

Not unusual. In fact, it was an everyday occurrence. Yet...strangely a funny sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach started to ebbing away my Morelli induced orgasmic-Zen.

Laying down my Boston crème, I said. "What's going on?"

She sighed into the phone. "You know that '_thing_' we talked about yesterday?"

Hesitating for a moment. "Yeah?"

"Well, Vinnie wants to _'talk'_ to you about that _'thing'_".

He couldn't.... He wouldn't..... That **_turd!_** I griped the phone harder.

"Connie, please tell me he not assigning that _'thing'_ to me?"

"I wish I could," She said, apologetically. "When can you get down here?"

I shook my head. No way. _No way_, was that duck-humping toad sending me out after the granny killer. NO WAY!!

Rex, sensing the coming storm, jumped off his little hamster wheel and scurried into his soup can for cover. There was an audible thump against the aquarium wall, as he raced inside.

"_Put Vinnie on the line!_" I yelled and started pacing. There were some scuffling noises, and then Vinnie's voice.

"_Stephanie_! Get your butt down here now. I've got work for you."

"No. _NO_ you _don't_!" I started shaking my head again. "You are NOT sending me out after _Terry Gilman_."

"Yes I do, and _yes_ I am. And you better get down here if you're still interested in keeping your job!"

"_Like hell!!_ Do you know how many people have ended up in a landfill for going after a Grizolli!?" And I sure s hell didn't plan on being the next.

"She's not a _Grizolli_...she's a _Gilman._ So you've got nothing to worry about."

I stop mid-step. "WHAT!? Is that the _best_ you can come up with? You've got to be kidding me Vinnie! I'm not going-"

"Listen," he said, cutting me off. I heard a door slam. "Vito called me earlier this morning. Terry's just got back in town last night and wants to turn herself in. Now. Today. _Understand?_ All he wants is for **_you_** to do is pick her up at her house around 11:30a.m, and escort her down town to the police station."

"What? _Me_! Do I look like a freakin' limousine service for mob jailbirds?"

"Yeah you do! Especially, if Vito Grizolli wants ya to be. Besides, he specifically asked for YOU to carry her down there. "Joe's Girl" that's you, right? Unless Joe's been banging Joyce behind our backs, you're the only female bounty hunter I got boning a Joe."

I shook my head. "Why me? Why do I have to do it? Can't she turn herself in?" By now, my voice was doing a rockin' imitation of Minnie Mouse.

"Look, why don't you call him up and ask him that, _Okay_? I didn't wanna know. I didn't need to know. I wasn't about to ask. If she wants you to be her personal limousine service to get her butt checked back into the gated inn, fine. As long as you get her down there and I get my money, I could care less."

"You, **_You_**—,"I growled into the phone.

"And where the hell is Copozzi, huh? It's been over two weeks since I gave you that freak's file. Andy could've brought him back in half that time. _Why haven't you brought him in yet?_ I'm about to lose a shit load of money cause you can't bring one, lousy no good drunk in to be processed."

"_Oh, go fuck a duck_," slamming the receiver down.

I resumed my pacing. Okay, this wasn't so bad. I didn't have to actually _chase_ her down. Right? Just escort the Blond Harlot down to the police station to turn herself in.

Simple right?

Right.


	10. Chapter 10: Missing Mobster, Oh my!

Chapter 10: Missing Mobster, Oh My!

_Crap!_ I can't believe that scumbag Vinnie would _do_ this to me!? Then again, this _was _the man who confessed his undying love to a duck! After wasting the next forty minutes taping clear plastic baggies over my missing windows, I managed to swing by McDonald's for a much needed Egg McMuffin, before head to the office. Walking in, both Lula and Connie turned to me wearing the same solemn expression.

"Hey girl. I tried taserin' his ass for you," Lula said, "but he made it out the backdoor too fast." From the look of the files shoved on the floor and torn pieces of...(Vinnie's pants leg!?) cluttering the hallway, I knew Lula was telling the truth.

Connie cut in, "Look on the bright side, Steph. All you have to do is drop Terry off. No skip-tracing involved. Easiest nine-hundred you've ever made."

I thought about that for a second. Connie was right. With the money from Terry's 'apprehension', I could start rebuilding my depleted bank account. Gee...who'd a thought Terry Gilman was good for something other than knocking off harmless old people.

I held out my hand. "Gimme her file."

Connie handed it over and then pulled out another. "Here's the other guys' file too."

Eh? "Other guy?"

Connie stared at me in shock. "Vinnie _didn't_ tell you? Another one of Vito's guys needs to go downtown too. A...Gino Bernardi. You're supposed to pick them both up at Terry's."

Another mob cronie. Great.

I looked over both files. Terry G. Gilman. Age 32. Self employed. Blond hair, brown eyes. Weight...absent??? Found to have been carrying two small caliber handguns along with...._three combat knives _at the time of her arrest. Sheesh! Charge, carrying concealed. Arrested outside of Benny's Bar & Grill a month or so ago. Apparently, someone reported hearing gunshots in the back alley of Benny's. When police arrived on the scene they found both Terry and an unknown male arguing behind the restaurant. Before an ID could be made, the unknown male fled from the arresting officers, resulting in Terry being the only person charged. Hmm...

Luigi 'Gino' Bernardi. Age 38, 245lb. balding, dark brown hair. Brown eyes. Gino had _a verrry_ long rap sheet. That included everything from grand thief auto and burglary, to repeated counts of assault and forgery. He was charged with _second degree manslaughter?_ Somehow, Gino and his bookie got into an altercation over some money owed. This argument resulted in Gino beating the bookie to death with a nearby bar stool...in a crowded bar.

_And I would be riding in a car with this guy!?_

I slapped the file shut. "Why can't they just turn themselves in?"

Connie raised her hands and shrugged. "Not a clue. Does it really matter?"

Yes! "No. I guess not."

I checked my watch and turned toward the door. "Got to go. Can't be late for my chauffeuring gig." They wished me luck and I set out for Terry Gilman's.

The area of the Burg Terry lived in took less than fifteen minutes to reach. Rolling pass each house that lined her block, I checked and rechecked each address until I found one that matched the address listed in the file. Her house was a narrow two story, brick home built much like my parents, with the exception of Terry's house not being attached to somebody else's....plus, her siding was an ugly, dull shade of burgundy. Yuck. Parking next to the curb, I noticed right away something wasn't quite right. After a full ten second of staring, I realized there were no cars parked in the driveway. Where were Terry and Gino's cars? Granted there was a single door garage and Gino could have been dropped off...but, I could've sworn hearing somewhere that Terry always parks her car out front, in the driveway.

Opening the car door, I walked up the asphalt pathway to her front door. Knocking twice, I waited. No response. After another minute, I knocked again while pushing the doorbell a couple of times....and waited. No Terry. I twisted the doorknob. Locked tight.

This... was definitely not a good sign.

I tried peering into the house through the hall window just right of the front door. No good. My view was blocked by thick red drapes. Terrific. I took a few steps back. In the corner of the larger front window, I noticed a slight crack between the two curtains sheets. _Aha!_ But, looking down, I was met with a slight obstacle. To get near the window I'd have to brave a slightly muddy flowerbed containing a cluster of red & pink tulips.

Do I _dare_ trample Terry's prize winning tulips for a peek?

_**Yes!**_

Trampling away, I peeked into what apparently was her front living room. The poor lighting hampered my investigating...oh, alright _snooping_ efforts. But, from what little I could tell, nobody was sitting around waiting on little ol' me. No noise. No sign of movement. Not even the shadow of Terry Gilman dead, decomposing body lying on the floor...and I was kinda looking forward to that last one. Stepping away from the window, I stomped the mud from the flowered off my Doc's. Hands on hips, I glared menacingly at the Blond Harlots' hideaway.

_Now what?_

I surveyed my surroundings. To the right, the house curved off into a narrow alleyway. Interesting... Never being one to miss an opportunity to snoop, I strolled over to check it out. On closer inspection though, it turned out just to be where Terry's wooden plank fence and her neighbors' metal one met. No secret side entrance/exit in sight. What a let down. Halfway down, resting against the redbrick wall, were moderately crushed black, garbage bins. Hmm...crushed garbage bins...where have I heard about this? Looking up, I glared at what I knew to be Terry Gilman's bedroom window. _Aha!_ _So _that's where he jumped from, huh? Pretty long jump. Might've broken a leg. If he ever does it again I hope so. Ignoring the other little images that particular story brought up, I continued down the path. At the very end was a clearly **_locked_** wooden door to her extremely tall wooden plank fence. About...6'5" tall to be exact. Hopping up and down, I tried to see over to the other side. No such luck.

Sighing, I walked back around to my Escape and picked up her file. Searching for every number listed, I spent the next ten minutes ringing each of them.

No answer.

That funny sinking feeling I had yesterday, came back with a vengeance. Terry Gilman wasn't answering her door or her phone. By all indications...Terry Gilman was gone.

Oh, boy. I speed dialed the office. Connie answered.

"She's not here," I said, flatly.

"What do you mean? She's supposed to be."

"Well, she's not." I watched the house. "No one's answering the door."

I heard Connie fumbling around for something. "Maybe she's asleep or in the shower. Call her number."

"I just did. All of them. No answer."

"How about the other guy?" _God no!_

"Not yet," and not likely.

"Call him and see if he's there. If not...hold on till I get a hold of Vinnie." Click.

_Ugh!_ I banged my head against the steering wheel, the horn honking with each blow. This day was quickly going into the crapper. I check the clock. It was almost time to meet Ranger for lunch. Giving Terry's house one last glare, I pulled off and headed over to Big Jim's.

Ranger, in his signature combat green/black army fatigues and badass mirror shades, was already seated (naturally) with his back against the wall. Flopping down at his table, I shoved my handbag underneath my chair and laid my head flat against the cool tabletop with a loud groan.

Ranger lips slightly twitched. "Another rough day, Babe?"

I nodded. "And getting worst." Sitting up, I said. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

Ranger watched me for a moment, all business. "You still in for Friday?"

"Yes," I grumbled. I'd like to get all my humiliation out of the way this week, if possible.

The waitress came by and we ordered the usual. After she left, Ranger said. "Slight change in plans. Takedown's been moved to New York."

"New York City?"

Ranger nodded. "My guy's decided to party with a couple of friends at The Michelangelo."

I racked my brain for a moment. "The Michelangelo....hotel?"

Ranger nodded again.

I sat back in my seat. That costume...a hotel...people...me. _NOOOO!_ I started shaking my head. "I'm not wearing that costume anyplace where other human beings can see me!"

Rangers' mouth twitched. "I know how attached you were getting to the thought of wearing the Catwoman outfit, Babe. But, you're right. You can't wear it to this party."

Narrowing my eyes. "What _will_ I be wearing?"

Ranger grinned. Reaching into his pants pocket, Ranger pulled out a plain white business card with small red lettering printed across the front. Holding it up between his fingertips for a second, he slid it across the table toward me. I eyed the card suspiciously. After that Catwoman deal, I didn't trust Ranger where costumes and me were involved. C'mon, what could possibly be worst than dressing up as Batman's S&M "playmate" for the...uh...hmmm. You know, when you put it in that context.... Picking the card up, I examined it closely. An...address? No business name, just a simple address.

Flipping the card over to check the back, I asked. "What's this?"

"An address." Duh! "Report there Friday. 6:00 a.m."

I looked up sharply. "6:00 a.m.?"

Ranger gave me one of his Ranger nods.

My eyes grew round. "As in 6:00a.m. In the morning? Crack of dawn. Birds chirping. That kind of 6:00am?"

Another Ranger nod.

I vehemently shook my head. "No. Sorry. That's _waaay_ to early in the morning for me."

Ranger folded his arms. "A deals a deal, Babe. You've agreed. No backing out now."

I whined. "But, 6 a.m. Ranger! You do realize I'd have to wake up around four just to get ready? You've seen my morning hair. It takes at least an hour to fix—"

"Don't bother. It's taken care of."

I narrowed my eyes. "_Define_ taken care of?"

Ranger flashed me a stunning 300-watter, but said nothing else. I groaned loud enough to draw the entire restaurant's attention before dropping my head back down against the tabletop.

Our food arrived and we dug in. The food was great, but it did nothing to alleviate my intense feeling of foreboding concerning Terry's apparent disappearance. I never like this feeling. It always seemed to coincide with me being stalked or my cars blowing up.

I looked up from my food to notice Ranger watching me from behind his mirrored shades. I raised my eyebrows.

"Deep thoughts, Babe?"

I was quite for a moment, then nodded. "You haven't heard anything about Terry Gilman have you?"

Ranger continued eating his food. "Why?"

Digging into my greens, I said, "I've been ordered by one, Vito Grizolli to see his niece and a fellow mob cronie safely down to the Trenton Police station. _Unfortunately_, both have decided to pull no shows on me. So now I have four missing FTA's instead of two, to look for."

Well, really just one. David (the wife beater) wouldn't be much of a problem with Lula's help. Terry and Gino could disappear to the bowels of hell for all I cared. I wasn't going to look for them.

Ranger gave a short laugh. "Need help with those too?"

I swallowed and then very dignifying, stuck my tongue out at him. "No, Just Copozzi...and why? Do you know something about Terry?"

Ranger was silent for a long while. I thought for a moment he wouldn't answer, when he spoke. "I know she's got a couple of problems in Philly."

Interesting... "What type of problems?"

Ranger wiped his mouth off with a napkin, and looked down at his watch. "Ask Morelli."

I gapped at him. "What do you mean 'Ask Morelli'? What's Joe gotta do with Terry Gilman's problems?"

Ranger stood up, pulled out a couple of bills and laid them down on the tabletop. Bending down, he pulled on one of my curls and placed a soft kiss on my lips. "Don't forget. Friday 6 a.m." Then walked off toward the front door.

"Wait," I yelled, standing up. It was no use. Ranger was out the door before I could even move from the table.


	11. Chapter 11: Tell me

Chapter 11: Tell me...

I finished my food and left Big Jim's. When I was halfway home, my cell started to ring. I answered without checking the caller ID.

"Yes?"

"**_Whaddaya mean she's not there?_" **Ah, the Big turd himself. Vinnie.

"Terry's not there. No one's there."

"Did you go _inside_?" His voice cracking on the word 'inside'.

"Are you _kiddin_g!? I'm not breaking into her house," not that I could. "...and besides, her car wasn't there either. Maybe she decided to turn herself in?" I smirked. Vinnie better hope so, cause I sure as hell wasn't looking for her. Terry could be on the lam for as _long_ has she liked.

Vinnie's nasal thin voice came back across the line. "That's not how Vito wanted it! He said she'd be there. Besides, they'd let me know if she'd turned herself in. I bonded her. They'd have to." Vinnie's voice faded in and out in that strange echo effect that speaker phone usually produced. I'd bet my best pair of FMP's Vinnie was in his office pacing back and forth.

"Christ, what am I gonna do?" he whined.

Hmm. This was probably the part in the conversation where if I cared I'd show some type of touching concern for my cousin's plight. But, really. This was _Vinnie_. I was trying my best not to burst into maniacal laughter.

"Hmm, sounds like you're in a jam," ...._muwhahahaha! _

"In a _jam_!? Listen to me, you stupid bimbo! You better do your job and you better do it now! What am I paying you for, huh? _Go out and look for her!_"

Yeah, Vinnie. And die a violent death while I'm at it. Right.

"Gee, Vin, I don't know about that. You know how we _stupid bimbos_ are. We can barely find our own asses, much less FTA mafia Hitwomen. Hey, _I know!_ Why don't you give this over to Joyce? With her brains and ingenuity, I'm sure she'll have Terry back in the system no time flat!" Jeez! I swear I just heard Vinnie's jaw bone snap.

"LOOK, YOU _BETT_-"Click. Hmm...the phone went dead. Oh, well. I'm sure he would've had something _ver_y encouraging to say to me. Heheh...life was looking up! In celebration of Vinnie's misery, I put on my favorite Bon Jovi CD and sang "It's My Life" all the way to Morelli's. I was turning down his street when I noticed his Toyota Tacoma parked out front. I checked the clock. 3:45. Eh? Joe's home early. Parking next to his truck, I quickly let myself in.

Both Joe and Bob were relaxing on the couch, watching football in the den. Giving him a quick kiss, I asked. "How long have you been home?"

Joe grinned. "A little over an hour. Your mother's left a couple of really creative messages on the machine. You should think about calling her soon. She's already worked her way down to threats involving food of the dessert variety." he snickered.

I groaned. Great. On top of everything else today, I forgot to call my mother. Flopping down next to him on the couch, I lost all traces of my Bon Jovi induced good mood.

"You know we have to go this evening, right? If we don't, we'll have to stop over everyday next week to shut her up."

Joe put his beer can down with a [thunk'. "_No._ You mean, _you_ will—"

"_No, Joe._ I mean _both_ of us."

Joe started shaking his head. "Sorry Steph, there's only so much interaction with your family a guy can take."

"Then you better not miss this evening. or you'll be doing _a whole lot_ of interaction next week."

Joe whined. "C'mon, Cupcake. I just got back. Can't a guy rest before he has to-"

"_No!"_ I shouted, crossing my arms. Not while my dessert privileges are at stake.

Joe grinned. Casually leaning back against the couch cushion, he reached out and carefully massaged the base of my neck.

"I could pull duty," he whispered. Making sure to hit _that_ spot right between my shoulder blades, on the word duty. I moaned. He slid closer. Continued the assault on my shoulder blades, he said, in a sexy voice, "Just think. We can spend the rest of the afternoon doing-".

"_Nothing!_" I jerked away. Oh, crap, I couldn't let him finish that sentence. My Hungarian hormones were dangerously close to overtaking my Italian dessert preservation instincts.

Scooting to the end of the couch, I said. "Can't! She's got spies on the force."

Joe paused, staring at me in disbelief. I returned his stare. "I'm not joking. She's got spies. She knew we were lying the last two times we told her that, and she made some vague threats about letting Grandma Mazur stop by and stay with us for awhile if we ever tried it again."

Joe shivered and sat back against the couch cushions. "Christ," he mumbled, picking up his beer again. No better mood killer, then to mention Grandma Mazur. Let's see. What else could we talk about? Oh, yeah.

"Terry Gilman's gone FTA. What do you know about it?"

Joe eyebrows lifted. "FTA?"

I told him about Vito's visit to Vinnie and his request that I 'escort' Terry down to the police station. Joe made a few wisecracks about it...until I got to the part about her not being at home. That's when Joe's entire demeanor changed and his cop face came down.

Entirely serious now, he asked. "You're _sure _no one was there?"

"Um...yeah. No sign of anyone in the house."

Joe looked down at the carpet for nearly a minute, then reached for his pager. "And the other guy?"

I watched him as he checked the numbers. "He wasn't there either. He may still be at his house. I haven't checked yet."

Joe immediately shot off the couch, and patted his pockets for his cell phone. Huh? I watched him with a mix of interest, and suspicion...and, okay, maybe jealousy was in there too. Joe made a quick succession of calls, but never received a reply. After the last phone call, he stood motionless for nearly three minutes. Face expressionless, as he stared at the picture frames on the corner table.

I looked at the picture frames, the back to Joe. Okay...not exactly sure what to make of this reaction. I watched him closely. "Do you know something about Terry, Joe?"

He ignored me, eyes still fixed on the picture frames.

"Joe? " I said a little louder, and he turned to me. "Do you know something?"

He stared at me for a spilt second, before looking away. "Steph. I know how hard it is for you to listen to anybody. But for once, do it. Forget about Terry. Work on another case."

I was planning on doing that anyway, but this reaction of his was quickly changing my mind. I stood up and walked over to him. "You know something?" It was statement, not a question.

Joe didn't answer. Instead, he walked past me to the coffee table, picked up his plate and beer can, and walked past me--_again_--straight into the kitchen. I blinked, shook my head and stared at the still swinging kitchen door.

Excuse me? Did I miss something?

Spinning on my heels, I turned around and marched straight to the swinging door, and watched him move around the kitchen. Joe was cleaning the plate, and placing it back into the cabinet.

I leaned against the door frame. "Joe." I said, slightly annoyed.

Morelli didn't turn or answer. What he did do is down the last of his beer.

I stared at his back. Gee...if I didn't know better, I'd swear Joe was ignoring me. But, that couldn't _possibly_ be the case...especially with me, oh so close to the kitchen knives.

Pushing off the door frame, I walked up behind him. "Joe, look at me. _Answer_ me! What do you know about Terry Gilman?"

Morelli crushed his can, and tossed it into the garbage bin, deliberately avoiding having to turn or walk in my direction.

_Alright._ I was now officially _pissed off_. Crossing my arms, I cornered him near the sink. If Joe wanted me out of his way he'd have to shove me. "Why don't you _try_ explaining to me _why_ I shouldn't look for Terry?"

Morelli finally faced me then, still shrouded in his ever blank copface. "**Can't.**"

Wrong answer. "**_Can't_** or **_Won't_**, Joe?"

Morelli's pager beeped. He clipped it off and looked down at it. "Choose whichever makes you happy. I gotta go." Turning away, Joe pushed past me and reached for his jacket lying on top of the kitchen island. I stilled.

In the past five minutes, I'd gone from slightly annoyed to homicidally enraged. I waved at his pager. "That's Terry, isn't it, Joe!?"

The pager beeped again and Morelli looked down at it. "Morelli, _answer me!_"

Morelli looked up and said. "I gotta go."

Oh, no you don't. I ran around the island and blocked the doorway. "Like _hell _you are, Morelli! You're not leaving this room until you tell me about Terry Gilman, or in fifty words or less why I _shouldn't _take a baseball bat to your truck."

Morelli grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into the kitchen. I tried kneeing him in the groin (and came close!), but he still managed to corner me against the refrigerator door. Locking both hands above my head, Joe grinned down at me. "Fifty words or less, Cupcake? Fine. How about...click."

I gawked up at him. "_What?_"

All of a sudden, Click. I stared at my right hand, then back at him. The _Bastard! _He'd cuffed me to the refrigerator door handle!

_"Take these cuffs off NOW, Morelli!"_

He shook his head. "Sorry, Steph. This is for your own good, and I just can't let you hurt my truck. We'll talk about this later." giving me a nice pat on the head, he stepped back. I flailed out a leg, trying to kick him, to no avail. Morelli's pager beeped once again and he left the room.

"Morelli!" I screeched. I could still hear him moving around in the den.

"_Morelli, if you ever wanna have sex with me again, you'd better unlock these cuffs!"_

The noise paused for a good fifteen seconds...then continued.

"ARRRRGGGH!! MORELLI!!!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Come back here NOW and unlock me! I mean it, MORELLI. If you don't come in here right now I swear by all that's holy, the next time we meet will be the **LAST TIME YOUR BALLS WILL EVER BE A MATCHING SET _AGAIN!_"**

Another long moment passed. and then I heard the front door slam. A second later his truck's motor started up, gunned, and faded away.

Son of a _bitch_!


	12. Chapter 12: YOU ARE POND SCUM MORELLI!

(a/n: I'm so glad so many people are enjoying this story. :o) And yes, to those who have e-mailed me. This is the exact same story from PFF. No real changes. Now on to the story. :o))

Chapter 12: YOU ARE POND SCUM MORELLI!!!!

_This sucks! This really, REALLY sucks!_

For the past half hour, I'd gone through an array of ingeniously creative techniques in an effort to work myself loose. They included: jerking the cuffs, cursing at the cuffs, and finally, praying to God for immaculate separation of the cuffs. Alas, none of these strategies seemed to work.

_Damnit!_

Leaning against the cool metal door, I looked around the kitchen for the thousandth time. There had to be _something_ here I could use. Chef's Knife? Plastic fork? Dinner plate? Bent toothpick...toothpick? My eyes locked onto the tiny ray of hope, laying smack dab in the center of the room on the kitchen island.

A toothpick is a type of pick, isn't it? Just like a lock pick, right? And Ranger breaks into my apartment _all the time_ with a lock pick. How hard can it be?

..._Ugh._

Lightly thunking the back of my head against the refrigerator, I groaned. _Could this situation get anymore more pathetic? Look at me. I'm reduced to a toothpick!_ After another futile search of the kitchen, I decided. What the hey...it couldn't hurt.

Stretching out as far as I could go, I reached toward the toothpick. With every step I took, my cuffed wrist yanked the refrigerator door open a bit wider. With just barely enough room to maneuver, I snatched up the tiny piece of wood and went to work on the handcuff lock. After standing there for about twenty or so minutes, maneuvering the stupid toothpick in every which way I could imagine, I tossed the useless piece of wood across the room.

MacGyver could've worked the lock with a toothpick. I wasn't as gifted.

Frustrated, I lightly kicked the fridge. Working relationship my ass. He chained me to the freakin' refrigerator door--**_again_**, for Christ sake! And all so he could meet that bleached blond Gangster Bitch Barbie in secret! If I hadn't been so pissed by that, I might've laughed at the weird irony of me being chained to a refrigerator. Or hell, me being chained up _in_ Morelli's kitchen.

Which, by the way, still looked exactly like his deceased aunt had left it. Daisy printed, yellow wallpaper flowed from wall to wall, while fake plastic flowers decorated the windowsill. With the notable exceptions of the new checker-tiled linoleum floor, re-tinted bronze cabinets, and weird knickknacks that belong more on a car's rearview mirror than a kitchen countertop, the room hadn't changed a bit since Joe moved in. Yup, not one bit. Not even the location of the telephone. Which, incidentally, was still located on the countertop next to the kitchen door...on the _far side_ of the room. Suffice it to say, well out of my reach.

_Bastard._ Didn't even have the common decency to leave it within reach this time.

Jerking my cuffed wrist again, I groaned._ Handcuff keys_. That's what I needed. I even had a set in my pocketbook. But, unless I developed some serious Carrie-like psychic abilities in the next few minutes, they'd likely remain on the couch in the den. I fell against the refrigerator door. _This is hopeless_...

At that precise moment, the television in the den switched off the football game and over to a meow-mix commercial. Suddenly, Bob broke into a fit of howling.

_**BOB!!!**_

Pushing off the refrigerator door, I yelled out. "_Bob! _Come here, boy. BOB!"

In less than a second Bob smashed through the kitchen door. With his tail waging high, tongue slobbering drool and a bit of a dog biscuit stuck to his left ear. He was the most adorable sight I'd ever seen. Bending over as much as I could, I started petting his fuzzy little head.

"Good boy, Bob! Do you want some nuggets? Huh? You want some McDonald's nuggets, Bob?"

He barked. _Ah, yes!_ Bob recognized quite a few words. _"No!", "Stop!", "Stop now!", "I mean it, Bob"._ But none of them had quite the same effect "nuggets" and "McDonald's" did. Bob would do _anything_ for McNuggets.

Still patting his head, I talked to him in that very annoying baby voice you can't help but do with dogs.

"Bob, get _keys!_ McDonald's..._keys_--" The words were barely out of my mouth before he rammed back out the kitchen door.

About three months ago, during a particular interesting episode of _Passions, _I discovered whenever Bob heard the words "keys" _and_ "McDonalds" in the same sentence, he'd automatically run straight to my pocketbook. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out _how_ he ever made that association.....really. Anyway, never being one to miss an opportunity to avoid unnecessary physical labor, I trained Bob within a week to fetch me my purse. Being lazy definitely has it benefits.

Trotting back in with my black handbag strap over his furry head, Bob ran straight to me and sat down. _Alright Bob!_ Taking my bag from around his head, I gave him a little hug... well, the best I could manage with one arm.

"You've just earned yourself a twenty-piece McNugget, Bob," I mumbled, searching my bag for the set of handcuff keys.

_Aha!_ Found them!

Unlocking myself, I kneeled down and gave Bob a proper hug. "You're a good doggie, Bob. Better than that wussy girly wimp, Lassie."

Folding up the cuffs, I shoved them down into my back pants' pocket and stood. They, along with my stun gun, would be needed during my future 'conversation' with Morelli. Hurrying into the den, with Bob tow, he immediately noticing the game was back on and hopped back onto the couch.

I patted his head. "Enjoy, the game. Bob. I'll be right back."

Wasting no time, I rushed out the front door to my Escape. Standing next to the car, while searching through my bag and ranting about the various ways I could separate Morelli from his family jewels. It took me a good five minute of freezing my butt off to realize my car keys weren't in my handbag.

Turning around, I marched right back inside. Stepping just inside the doorway, I dumped my bag out onto the carpet floor and searched around. No keys. I emptied my pockets. Gum, crumbled tissue, peanut for Rex...no keys. I went into the kitchen and looked. Rex's cage, counter tops, etc ...nothing. I checked the den. Couch cushions. Table top. Nada. I retraced my steps all the way back to my car. Still no keys.

I know I had them when I walked through the door, rechecking my bag once more. I distinctly remembered putting them inside it just as I sat on the couch to talk to...Morelli.

Morelli...gone...

Keys...gone...

_Dammit!_


	13. Chapter 13: VaroomVaroom!

Chapter 13: Varoom-Varoom!!!

I hurled my pocketbook across the room. That man's not gonna have _a piece_ of a nut left by the time I catch up to him. I stood up, in a full blown rage. _Take my keys will you Mr. Morelli? _Hah! _Joke's on you. _

Stepping over the mess on the floor, I stomped straight up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Ever since that time Morelli threw my keys (okay, _his_ keys) into a dumpster, I'd always had a second pair on hand just for emergency situations. And this was _definitely_ an emergency situation. Rifling through his dresser drawers, I tossed clothes left & right, trying my best to remember where I hid them. I was half way through the bottom drawer when I hit pay dirt. _Yes! _KEYS! I snatched them up.

No, wait...these weren't my keys....these were the...Ducati's?

I examined them more closely for the telltale emblem. Yup. These were the Ducati's spare keys alright. I sighed and started to toss them back into the drawer, then paused.

Hmm...well...Morelli _did_ leave me stranded didn't he? In fact, he chained me up and stole my keys. By divine cosmic law it's not only right but _just_ that I borrow _his_ Ducati, isn't it! Heading out the door and down the stairs (only stopping briefly to pick up my phone), I walked into the garage. Flipping the light switch, I paused just inside the doorway.

The Ducati.

Just as shiny and well oiled as the day Joe bought it. It rarely got ridden now a days thanks to Joe's hectic 'work' schedule. Well...I was about to change that. Hitting the switch for the garage door, I walked over and sat down on the bike. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself and those annoying little guilt demons that never seem to know when to _Shut the hell up, will you!_ I reasoned: he's hiding things from me, he's stolen my keys, he's even chained me to a refrigerator door. It's only right that I feel no guilt whatsoever for borrowing his bike. Confident that I was in the moral right, I raised the kickstand with my right foot and turned the key. The bike started with a soft _varoom_ that rolled into a steady purring. Oh, _God!_ Time stood still for a couple of seconds as I strained to come back to reality. Edging carefully out the garage and down the driveway, I took off down the street.

I hadn't the foggiest idea where to find Morelli. Maybe an hour and a half had passed since he'd left me chained up. Joe could be any place in Trenton. Or, out of Trenton, remembering the sleazy hotel near Route One that he'd used to meet up with Terry.

_Grrr_....Terry Gilman.

What was the exact nature of their relationship? For a time, I viewed it as being almost similar to Ranger's and mine. I knew (though I hated admitting it), Joe held some kind of physical, maybe, even emotional, attraction for Terry. I didn't like it. But I understood it. She, like me, had a claim to parts of his past, and by extension, parts of him. During the wildest period of his teens, she was the one he...ah...liked? Okay, maybe _loved_. For a guy who tended to play fast and loose with half the female population of Trenton, the fact that he actual _dated_ her for such an extended period time showed they had something there.

Call it whatever you want, love or lust, it had been there between them. Whatever it was, I knew for a fact Terry Gilliam was trying her best to resurrect it. Problem was, Joe wasn't the same guy he'd been back then.

At least...I didn't think so. I wasn't naïve enough to believe some part of that old Morelli didn't exist. He reared his ugly head whenever Joe cracked a smart-alecky remark or bragged about a particularly dangerous risk he'd undertaken during an undercover sting. His face would take on a certain glow and that mischievous grin of his would appear, making you wonder how much of his old badass self did he still long for.

No, the real problem wasn't whether he longed to be more like his old self. It was _how much_ control did that small part of his persona have over his current life now? Was it enough control that constant contact with Terry Gilman could erupt into...into...

I must have driven around Trenton—twice--looking for Morelli. My first stop was at Terry's home. I didn't believe he'd show up there, but it was the closest place to start with. Not much had changed since my earlier visit. After a moment's hesitation, I drove on. My next stop was the police station. I know, _I know_. Probably the _last _placed they'd ever meet up is at the police station. But, I didn't have a clue where else to try. Making a quick pass through the police station's parking lot, I searched for his truck.

As I rode past each car in the lot, I noticed quite a few parking spaces were empty. Not _that _unusual, but very noticeable. From the looks of it, a small part of the force was either late for the night shift or on vacation.

Leaving the lot, I cruised around some more. After an hour or so of no sighting, I decided as a last resort to cruise down Route One to the motel where Lula and I had interrupted the undercover sting operation. It was the only other place I knew, beside her house, that they'd met up at. Halfway there though, the Ducati started making a funny clicking noise, which was soon followed by thick black smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe.

Oh, no.

Quickly exiting the freeway, I barely made it off the road before the bike stalled on me. Checking the gauges, I realized the bike was out of gas. _Damn._ I was so preoccupied with finding Morelli that I didn't even notice the bike was on running on "E". _Now what? _

Looking around, I tried locating any signs of a nearby gas station. Lots of woods, a street light or two and... a single motel that kind of look like...ohmigod! _It's the Bate's motel come to life!_ I anxiously looked back in the direction of the last gas station I remembered seeing. Which, just happened two or so miles back. I groaned. Gas would be a two mile hike in the pitch black dark, with the likely potential of getting run over by an 18-wheeler. _Plus_, there was the _little fact_ that I'd left my purse and everything else (with the exception of my phone) back at Morelli's on the hall floor.

Sighing, I dug into my pocket and pulled out my cell.

"Talk."

"Woof."

Ranger paused. "Babe?"

"Hi Ranger. You busy?"

"Depends. What do you need?"

A very large eighteen wheeler passed right by me, blowing my hair into my face. "Ah...my mode of transportation has run out of gas."

I swear I heard him smile across the phone line. "Need a ride?"

I shook my head, then realize he couldn't see me and answered. "Just gas. I've sort of....kind of _forgotten _my wallet at home."

He laughed. "Where are you?"

I look around for a nearby street name and and found it right next to the motel's vacancy sign and..._Yikes!! _Is that someone staring at me from the second story window!?

I cradled the phone next to my cheek with both hands. "_Milton at Route One_!_ **Hurry!!**"_

Ranger paused. "Be there in ten." Click.

Ten minutes? He's nearby?

True to his word, Ranger showed up exactly ten minutes later. Parking in front of the Ducati, he got out and walked over to me. Looking first at me, then the down at the Ducati, then back up at me, his slight twitch morphed into a spectacular 300-watt smile.

"Morelli letting you ride his bike now, Babe?"

"No," I said sharply.

Ranger raised an eyebrow before turning and walking back to his bronco and lifting out a gas canister. Walking back, he looked over the bike. "There a reason you're on Morelli's bike?"

Watching him, I replied. "He cuffed me to the refrigerator and stole my car keys."

Ranger stood silent for exactly 3.5 seconds. "Naked?"

_Grrr_...Biting off each word, "_No. I wasn't naked!_"

Ranger shook his head. "Too bad." I could see his abdomen shaking as crouched down next to the Ducati. I doubt _seriously_ it was from the cold.

Proceeding to fill my tank, Ranger grinned. Without looking back up, he said. "No bracelets. Pick your way out?"

I looked down at my wrist absently. "No, I had a key in my purse."

He shook his head. "Shame. Could've helped you out there, Babe. You know how much I love un-cuffing you from metal bars."

I glared down at him. "I'll keep that in mind next time".

Ranger stood up and nodded. "Always at your service, Babe," Walking back to his bronco. "Especially when you're naked."


	14. Chapter 14: Hmm

Chapter 14: Hmm...

Officially, as of this very moment, it was 5:30 a.m. I am **_never_ **up at 5:30 a.m. Only garbage men, serial killers, and overactive Cuban mercenaries have a right to be up at 5:30 in the morning. I know this from experience. I've been up with the overactive Cuban twice before at this time and never saw another living soul.

I set my twelfth cup of coffee down on the coffee table, right alongside my fully charged stun gun, half-empty can of pepper spray, handcuffs and chefs' knife (for castration purposes, of course). With the exception of two ninety minute naps, I'd been up most of the night...waiting.

Waiting for that no good traitorous rat fink Morelli to grace me with his presence. If Morelli thought for one _second_ I'd let him get away with his little stunt yesterday evening, he had another thing coming. Picking up the chef's knife, I rhythmically started tapping it against the table top. **_In fact_**, Joe was gonna tell me **_everything_** he knew whether he **_liked it_** or **_not_**. Hence, my assortment of interrogation tools that lay out on the coffee before me. I tossed the knife back down on the tabletop, where it landed with an audible _thunk, _and stood up Pacing from one end of the den to the other, I grew more and more frustrated. It wasn't exactly like I was **_eager_** to track down the whereabouts of one Terry G. Gilman. In fact, I was perfectly happy cooling my heels waiting for Vito to clue Vinnie in on what to do.

But, that was yesterday.

You know, right before I was handcuffed to a refrigerator door and realized Joe was withholding serious information from me. It's not like this was the first time he'd done it. I knew there were things he couldn't tell me about his job. Heck, it wasn't even the first time he'd cuffed me to refrigerator door. But, C'mon! Last night, even for him, was a tad bit extreme. For all he knew, I could still be stuck to the refrigerator door while some maniac chopped me to bits. **_And_** if that wasn't bad enough, _**he took my keys**._ MY CAR KEYS!

I stopped pacing and redialed his cell phone for the sixteenth time. No answer.

Slamming the phone down several times against the coffee table, I finally reached my limit. Enough was enough. You want to play hide and seek with me Morelli? _Fine!_ I find people for a living. I can find _you_. I've done it before. And I'll do it again.

I waited till 8:00 a.m. rolled around and dialed Eddie Gazzara, a Trenton police officer and one of my best friends since childhood. Unfortunately, as kids, we spent so much time together that he eventually met and married my cousin Shirley, The Whiner. Life hasn't been the same since.

He answered on the first ring. Before he could speak, I was off and running.

"Is that no good rat bastard there!?"

Eddie paused. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here. You're talking about Morelli, right?"

"Don't mess with me Eddie. I'm not in the mood. He has a staff meeting every morning. He never misses it. Is he there?"

Eddie went silent.

"_Eddie_!"

I heard some paper shuffling sounds, but no reply from Eddie.

"_Fine_ Eddie, if I find out your holding out on me outta some misguided male-cop-protect-fellow-male-cop-even-if-he's-an-asshole crap, so help me, I'll forget you're one of my bestfriends and tell Shirley where you've been stopping to eat in the morning."

He sighed. "He didn't show. Though in all fairness, quite a few guys didn't show this morning. From what I can tell, a real nasty flu bug hit the department around four yesterday afternoon and a lot of guys have been scarce. _Especially_, PC officers."

"....What?"

He paused for a moment. "Listen, Steph. I don't know what's up, but Morelli's not the only guy pulling a no show. From what I can tell, only the guys who've just come back from helping the FBI and ATF out in Philly have gone MIA."

Philly? My conversation with Ranger flashed through my mind.

"Do you know what going on?" ...like is Terry Gilman involved?

"Not a clue, Steph. No one's talking and we've been encouraged not dwell too much on the missing guys whereabouts. I get the impression not to expect them back anytime soon, though."

Anytime soon? "Thanks Eddie. I owe you one"

"Just don't threaten my breakfast again. You know I can't live off the stuff Shirley feeds me".

"Sorry."

"Take care, Steph". Click.

I sat back down on the couch and stared at my coffee mug.

Not just Morelli, but several other PC's have pulled disappearing acts as of 4:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon...about the same time Morelli's pager went off. The same guys who were working on a case with the FBI and ATF in Philly.

Like Morelli.

Okay, then. Maybe it _wasn't_ Terry paging him last night then. Who was it? Why did Morelli react the way he did? I reviewed our shouting match from last night. Morelli wasn't too concerned with me taking Terry in. He laughed and cracked a couple of jokes about it. It wasn't until I mentioned her not being at home that his cop face appeared and the conversation deteriorated.

Why would her disappearing affect him so much? They worked together of course. That's a plausible reason for him to be concerned. I mean, what cop wouldn't be worried about the well being of his favorite blond Barbie mafia hit woman snitch, who just _loves_ dressing up in reveling nighties and going to seedy motels to rat out her boss. It's only natural...if you're a Morelli, that is.

Okay, before I jumped the gun, I needed to look at the facts. Vito Grizolli informed Vinnie that Terry would miss her court date because she was still away on 'business'. Business in...Philadelphia? Ranger said Terry had a couple of problems with some guys in Philadelphia. So...if she was in Philadelphia handling those problems...she would've been in Philadelphia at the same time as Morelli?

Not liking this picture. What could he be doing on assignment in Philly with his Trenton mob snitch?

Then another thought struck me. Morelli made it home from Philadelphia the day before yesterday...same time Vito told Vinnie Terry made it back in town.

Really not liking this picture.

I remembered how haggard and bruised Joe looked that night he came back home and how he avoided my questions. How did Morelli get bruised? From the little he told me, he was just an adviser. Not an active undercover agent with an actual role in the sting, but an advisor to the FBI and ATF on how to handle the situation. Now...now that I thought about it, that didn't sound quite right. Local cops advising the Fed's, of all people, on how to conduct an undercover sting? Even weirder was the thought of Morelli in the role of advisor. For as long as I've know Morelli, (the undercover cop) he's never been anything less than an active player in a sting. Always the one to go in undercover, never the one to sit back and do basically nothing. It wasn't his thing. If he was involved as an undercover agent, why did he feel the need to lie about that little fact in the first place? Why not just tell me he was going undercover?

I heard some whining and realized poor Bob had been begging for food for about ten minutes.

"Sorry Bob. "

To relieve my guilt for being such a bad Bob owner, I gave him half a leftover Pino's sub and took him for his morning walk. When I got back, I had formed a plan of action.

Find Terry Gilman.

I know. _I **know**_ Hunting down a female mob wise guy may not be the brightest of plans but.... I **_was_** contracted by Vinnie to do it. And I had the feeling that Terry was at the center of whatever was going on. If I found Terry, I'd find the answers I was looking for. Besides, Eddie didn't know anything and he said Joe wasn't gonna make an appearance anytime soon. Ranger seemed...reluctant to tell me what he knew and there was no way I would get him to talk if he didn't want to. That left me with the only option of finding the answers on my own.

I went upstairs. Showered, shampooed, then changed into a blue t-shirt, flannel shirt, blue jeans and my trusty Doc Martins. I gathered up all my belonging on the coffee table (minus chef's knife) and dropped Bob off next door. Hopping the Ducati, I drove toward my apartment building to find my spare set of car keys. Don't get me wrong. I'd love to zoom through Trenton all day on the Ducati, but the Jersey weather wasn't cooperating. Light sprinkles of rain were already starting to fall and by noon it was suppose to be pouring down. Plus, the temperature was steadily lowering. My Jeep may be missing a few windows, but the plastic covers offered better protection from the rain than the Ducati. On top of everything else, I refused to run into Terry Gilman looking like a cold, drowned sewer rat.

I made it to my apartment building and let myself in without knocking. The apartment was still pretty much in a state of chaos. Sighing, I shook my head. _Later_. Worry about it _later_. Moving to my bedroom, I found both Valerie and the baby passed out on the bed. Being as quiet as I could, I searched around and found my spare set of keys in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Re-shutting it, I left.

As I was locking up, I tried _real_ hard to ignore the disastrous condition of my apartment. I was depressed and angry as it was without added fuel to the fire. At the moment, I was living at the one place I'd rather not be and couldn't go back to one place I did.

Life sucks!

Exchanging vehicles and picking up my navy blue hooded jacket, I set out to McDonalds for some much needed comfort food. After ingesting some calming McNuggets, with an equally calming Oreo McFlurry, I thought over my plan.

Where should I start looking for Terry?

I couldn't exactly go snooping around her place of employment asking questions. People who tried that kind of ended up in landfills. Ditto for relatives and friends. So...that left only one place worth searching.

Time to pay the Blond Harlots' home another visit.


	15. Chapter 15: Coffee No Sleep Stephanie V

Chapter 15: Coffee & No Sleep = Stephanie Va Loca!

Parking next to Terry's curb, I studiously examined the surrounding neighborhood. Thanks to the dismal weather, not a single person was out and a bout, lingering on front porch steps or strolled along the bare sidewalks. From all outwardly appearances, not a single soul was watching me.

Yeah, right.

This was the Burg. Someone's **_always_** watching in the Burg. God only knows what rumors have already spread about me and my hunt for the missing Terry Gilman.

"_Darn it! "_ Smacking my forehead with the palm of my hand, I groaned. I _still_ hadn't called my mother yet! She's probably ironed half of the Burg's laundry by now.

Sighing, I pulled up the hood of my jacket and stepped out of the car onto the wet sidewalk. Terry's house pretty much looked like the last time I saw it. Really. You'd think with my track record, I would've at least stumbled over a body by now.

Sprinting up the pathway to her front door, I knocked just once and waited. No response.

Hmph...I didn't honestly expect one. But, still. Stranger things have happened. I jiggled the doorknob. Locked tight. Looking around the front porch, I searched for some false rock or plant that could possibly be hiding an extra key. No such luck.

Sighing for the millionth time, I wished Ranger would clue me in on the whole breaking & entering thing. I feel so left out at sometimes. Peering through the crack in the front window again, I tried making out anything odd in the living room. No good. With the poor lighting, I could barely see anything. Argh.

As I swung around in frustration, I caught the curtain window in the house across the street swinging shut.

Yay. That must be grandma's best friend Loretta. The one who called the cops on Joe and Terry a while back. Nice to know I've made my contribution to the grapevine today. I stood back from the window as the rain started to pour down harder and cold set in, making my teeth chatter and my body shiver. Well...this was a bust.

Sprinting back to my car, I immediately started my engine, then stopped and looked back at the house. My spidey would not let me pull off. In fact, it _demanded _that I get into **_that_** house by any means necessary. **_Now. _**

I tried reasoning with it. Promising it chocolate ice cream. and a warm bath if it just let me go back to bed. Nope. It wasn't having it. It wasn't interested in common sense arguments or my lack of burglary abilities. It wanted in, and it wanted in **_now_.**

**_Alright!_** How?

No way was I gonna make it through the front door unseen. Not with the 75 year old watch dog across the street. I rolled my eyes. That's just what I needed. To get caught red-handed, burglarizing Terry Gilman's home. If I didn't end up in a landfill, I'd have to pull the phone cord out of the wall for weeks to come. Hmm...the front door was a bust, but, maybe...the backdoor? I shook my head. Nah, even if I was able to make it to the back door--unseen. It's a well established fact that I couldn't pick a lock to save my life. I lacked any and all of the necessary burglary skills to pull it off. Then again...I did have a crowbar in my trunk.

Loretta front curtain cracked open again and I rolled my eyes. Sighing, I started up and pulled away from the curb. Turning down the next street over, I drove past the row of houses that stood directly behind Terry Gilman's fortress. Parking far enough down the street where I couldn't be noticed... or I at least _hoped_ I wouldn't be, I got out and opened my trunk. As the rain started to really pour down, I quickly found and put on my pair of black leather Gucci gloves (Courtesy of Samuel Singh finders fee and Macy Sales day bonanza) and rummaged through my trunk until I found the crowbar.

I may lack even the petty criminal skills it would take to pick a simple diary lock. But crowbars, I've found, kinda make that a non-issue. Shoving it into my handbag, I slam the trunk down hard. Suddenly, loud barking erupted from behind the front door of the house across the street from me. _Oh, crap!_ Panicked, I looked for some where to hide and spotted the small side alley of the house in front of me. Racing down it, I climbed over the short metal fence into their backyard. After a few minutes of hard breathing, I realized I could see the back of Terry's home. It was maybe...five backyards away. If I stuck to the back way, ala going through the neighbors' backyards, I could probably reach it without being seen. Downside. Climbing over fences. Low fences, but still, fences. Crap! I had another long debate with my spidey sense, then sighed.

Hurrying along, from yard to yard, until I reached the one directly behind Terry's house. I jump over their small four foot metal fence, and instantly met with a slight dilemma. Well, actually, a six foot wooden one to be exact. Apparently, in my enthusiasm to burglarize Terry's home, I'd forgotten that she had a six foot wooden fence surrounding her yard. _Damn!_ Kicking the fence, I let a few choice Italian phrases fly.

Here I was cold, practically soaking wet, and all for _nothing_!

Shivering, I searched around me for something—anything—that could help me out. Then I spotted it. A black iron yard table lay hidden among a jungle of brightly colored flora and fauna that someone actually had the nerve to treat like a garden. Barely three feet across, it was just perfect for a make shift stool. Dragging it quietly (well as quietly as I could manage, anyway), I lined it up next to Terry's fence.

Climbing on top, I carefully maneuvered my 130 pound carcass over the sharp wooden planks. Extremely lucky that I managed to make it over the top without staking myself, I collapsed to the grown from pure and utter relief. Okay, maybe it was more like passed out from extreme exhaustion. Either way, I barely missed landing in Terry's uncovered heart shaped swimming pool.

Heart shaped? Sheesh!

I looked around. For such a tall fence you'd think there was something worth protecting back here. Beside a heart shaped pool and un-mowed grass, the only other object out here was a ...hot tub. Joe never mentioned anything about a...hot tub, or for that matter, a heart shaped pool. My list of future interrogation topics was getting bigger and bigger. Pushing my self of the grown with a groan, I passed the...hot tub...and tried the lock on the back door.

Locked.

Yep. Pulling out my trusty crowbar, I went to work prying the lock from the doorjamb. After a few minutes, rational sane thinking tried to make a comeback. Dear God, what am I doing? This was wrong...this was dangerous...this was..._.a lot_ easier than I thought it'd be. Who the hell needed lock picks when you had a crowbar? After a moment, the lock gave way from the doorjamb and I was in Terry's kitchen.

Built much very much like Morelli's, not a speck of dirt marred the brown counters or plain white linoleum floor. Wow....between the granny killing and the boyfriend seducing, she finds the time to make her kitchen spotless. She's a regular Martha Stewart....or maybe, Burg housewife...

I set the crowbar down on the counter next to the sink. Inside laid two dirty powder blue dinner plates with two crystal clear champagne glasses resting on top.

Hmph...I guess Terry's not as thorough as I thought.

Studiously ignoring the little voice wondering who used the second plate and cup, I opted instead to open up the refrigerator door. Yikes! From the piles and piles of take-out boxes cluttering up the fridge, Terry didn't seem to be much of a cook either. Hmm...sure were a lot of Slimfast cans.

Shutting the fridge, I left the kitchen and walked into the den. For a second, I was blinded by a collage of pinks, reds and maroons. Why the hell did she decorate her den to look like a seventies love shack!? Bookshelves and corner tables lined the walls. And a medium sized maroon sofa, piled high with pillows, sat in front of a 52' television screen. Besides the sofa, there were no other seats in the room. Nada. None whatsoever. So. Whoever sat in this room...say a good sized six foot Italian Mor...man and a...oh, 5'6" mafia snitch would have to sit _pretty damn close_...

Go away little voice.

On the corner of a small table directly against the back of the sofa, was a small pile of Terry's mail. Oooh. Picking the stack up, I quickly rifled through it. Bill, bill, credit card bill, junk mail. Whoa! Pay dirt. Both Terry's cell and home phone bill--lay unopened at the very bottom. Stashing the entire pile for future investigation in to my bag, I turned, looking around the room then up at the stairs. Where to start my real snooping first?

With a quick round of eeni-meenie-minee-moe, I decided it was best to check the upstairs and work my way down and headed up the stairs. After another quick round of eeni-meenie-minee-moe, I started with a room on the right. Flipping the switch, I looked around what was obviously a guestroom. It wasn't much in the way of decoration, but still a vast improvement over the den. Thick, cream colored carpet, mocha colored walls and a single queen sized bed....that looked recently slept in. Hmm.

Besides the bed, there were shelves, a plain oak dresser and two other doors. Opening one, I found my self staring into a connecting bathroom shared by another room. With a quick look-see, I noticed most of Terry's makeup and hair things were gone. Either she didn't have enough time to unpack **_or_** she never planned to before she disappeared.

Closing the bathroom door, I turned back to the guestroom and checked each of the dressers drawers then the shelves for anything important.

Nothing.

Finally, last, but not least. I opened the closet door and froze. There, lying on the very bottom of the empty closet's floor was...a dark blue gym bag...a _very familiar _looking dark blue gym bag. I opened it up and riffled through some of...Oh, my God. It was! I started pulling Morelli's things out of the gym bag and setting them on the floor. Clean shirts, underwear, mini-shaving kit, _condoms!?_

This...this was his overnight bag! The very same overnight bag he used to lug over to my apartment whenever he spent the night. Taking a deep calming breath, I told myself there could be an infinite number of logical reasons why it was here. I mean...there are lots of logical reasons why Morelli's overnight bag could be stashed in _TERRY GILMAN'S HOUSE!!!_

I may have screamed that last part. I wasn't sure. I was more intent on tossing the bag against the closet door and kicking opened the door that connected Terry's room to the bathroom.

I stopped in my tracts. Clothes, upon clothes, upon clothes blanketed the room. Piled high on the bed, the dresser drawers, and even the lamp shade. The only place totally clothes free happened to be the wide open closet. _Crap_, and here I thought Val did a number on _my_ apartment. As much as would have loved to chalk this mess up to Terry's innate animalistic mannerisms, I couldn't. From all appearances, Terry was either running for her life when she packed, or somebody paid this room a harsh visit to this room.

Stepping further into the room, my foot caught on the strap of a...pink camisole? Wasn't she wearing a...Grrr! Kicking the pieces of crap across the room, I searched around for clues as to what the hell happened. I was halfway through the clothes pile on her bed when I discovered a photo album of....oh, my. This day just gets _better_ and _better_.

It was a photo album consisting of old photos of _Joe_ and _Terry_. Page after page of young Joe & Terry. How lovely...and e_ww..._some pictures I wish _to God_ I hadn't seen!

Quickly, flipping toward the latter parts of the album, I froze mid-flip. Pictures--by all indications, _recently taken_ pictures--showed Terry and Joe smiling and hugging each other in a park...dancing in a nightclub of some kind...and....**_kissing!? _**What the....

I stared down at the last one for a moment, then closed my eyes. Pissed and hurt didn't even _begin to_ describe what I was feeling. Joe was...he was...I opened my eyes and stared back down at the photographs. I thought I might cry, but when the tears hit the page, I knew I already was. Wiping them away, I slowly flipped through the pages.

After a moment, I was sure. These were recent pictures alright. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about Joe's appearance made me think these had to have been within the last year or so. Carefully going back over each of the photographs, something else about them caught my eye. I didn't notice it the first time, but a few of these pictures looked as if they were taken in...New York? Yes, quite a few of them were taken in places I'd seen before. In fact, one even appeared to be of them in Times Square. But the others? I re-checked the ones of them in a bar. Aha! There. In the background with them dancing was a name.

_Paulie's Bar and Grill: We have the best food Philly can offer._

Philly...as in Philadelphia? Not just recent. These had likely been taken within the past six months, if not the past two weeks! I don't believe this. Joe, **_you asshole!_** You were having an affair while **_WORKING!?_** I stuffed the album into my pocketbook and aborted my search of the room. I didn't give a rat's ass about finding anymore stupid clues. Heading back downstairs, I bent on getting the hell out of Terry's evil 70's inspired love shack, but was momentarily distracted by the flashing neon green number six of Terry's answering machine. I fought with myself for a moment, torn between listening to her messages, and getting back to Morelli's and burning the sucker to the ground. Then reason kicked in. I could do that _after_ I listened to Terry's messages. Pressing play, I listened.

**4:15am:**

_No message_

Who would call that early?

**5:34am**

Morelli's voice spoke from the machine. "_Two and thirty-seven, Terry." _

Wait, was that Morelli's voice?

**6:15am:**

"_Terry, I'm returning your call. Page me as soon as you can."_

Joe. What a surprise. He must've called her yesterday...morning? Before he left for work?

**1:15pm:**

"_Terry? Where the hell are you? Vito wants to talk to you. **Terry?**"_

Vito thug?

**4:15pm:**

_No message _

Hmm...4:15? Right around the time he made that call yesterday...

**6:15pm:**

"_Terry, this is Joe...Terry?.... Dammit. Call me as soon as you can. It's important. Use my other cell if you have to, but call me...(sigh) stay safe, Sunshine. "_

Sunshine? ...Well that speaks for itself. And 6:15pm, huh? _Well _after the time he left _me_ chained to a refrigerator door. And...did I just hear him right? He has another PHONE!?

I replayed the messages over again. This time paying close attention to the second call. Yep. No doubting it. The third and last message were from Joe, but the second....hmm.... It did sort of _sound_ like him. Maybe if Joe smoked four packs of cigarettes a day. Who the hell was this? What does _"Two and thirty-seven"_ mean? I started to replay hit the rewind button one more time, when the unmistakable click of a gun hammer echoed behind me.

"Are you finished?"


	16. Chapter 16: Caught!

Chapter 16: Caught!

I closed my eyes and gave a little headshake. _Oh...crap._ Slowly straightening myself, I turned around and was greeted to the sight of four heavily armed Italian guys in matching black, rain-soaked trench coats surrounding me in the den. Well...three of them were anyway. Two guarded either side of the doorway while the third stood less than five feet in front of me. The fourth guy hung back just outside the doorway. But, all four had a handgun out and trained on me.

_Shit!_

The guy in front of me took a step closer. Enunciating each word slowly, he said. "Drop your bag to the floor at your feet, then take three steps back."

My eyes locked on to the gun aim straight for my chest, and I froze. For the life of me (literally), I could not move. For all intended purposes, I was a cute innocent deer stuck in a .33 caliber Glocks' headlights. The guy shifted the angle of the glock toward my face, then clicked back the hammer. "Now."

Oh well, that cured me Lowering my pocketbook off my right shoulder, I gently dropped it onto the red-carpeted floor at my feet. With my eyes still trained on the gun, I proceeded to take three large steps backwards. Without moving his gun or eyes off of me. The guy stepped over my pocketbook so that it rested just behind his feet, and kicked backwards, launching my poor handbag across the carpet floor.

He grinned. "Good girl. Now raise both of your hands—slowly, and place them on top of your head. You attempt to move them any place else and I guarantee they won't be attached to your corpse."

O-kay, that's good enough for me. I raised my both my hands—slowly—to the top of my head.

"Search the bag." Eh? For a minute, I thought he was talking to me. But then the goon who'd been standing outside the doorway came into the room.

Crouching down next to my pocketbook, he proceeded to unzip it, search and toss out any of my bounty hunter paraphernalia he came across. Bye-bye stun gun, can of pepper spray, and...mini-nail file? Hmm...somebody works for airport security in their spare time.

He stayed crouched over my pocketbook, methodically going through each of the compartments, before standing up and shaking his head. "No gun."

The guy in front of me nodded. Stepping way closer, he proceeded to pat me down for weapons. Quite a few times his hands lingered a little _too_ long for my comfort. Then again, _nothing_ about this situation was to my comfort. It wasn't until he was stooped down patting my legs that I finally recognized who he was.

Oh-mi-god. "_Ronnie!_? Ronnie Donatelli?"

In a time long ago, and a land far away; I used to date Ronnie Donatelli. Of course, that 'time long ago' was the late eighties and that 'land far away' was junior high school. Back then, Ronnie was still semi-law abiding with a small Star Wars fascination and a misguided belief he was Han Solo. Since, I myself used to pretend to be an exiled intergalactic princess, his obsession kinda worked out for me. Yup, good times those. Well, they were until I went to my first Bon Jovi concert. From that moment on, both Ronnie Donatelli and the intergalactic princess shtick took a backseat to Stevie "Jon Bon Jovi look-alike" Truro and his garage band. Heh-heh...hope Ronnie still didn't hold any hard feelings over that...

I checked Ronnie out; apparently not just his allegiance to the good side of the force had changed. Ronnie now stood around 6'2", with a nice muscular build. His wavy, black hair was cut short and was dripping wet from the outside rain. A few wavy strains clung to his dark shades, which (I knew for a fact) hid warm hazel-golden brown eyes.

_Damn_, did he grow up nice or what? Of course...he'd look a lot nicer with his gun pointed _away_ from me. Slowly flashing me a killer grin, Ronnie stood up.

His eyes roamed over me by body, then settled on my breasts. _Eeew._ Well, some things hadn't changed. "Hey, Princess. Looking good."

Ronnie raised the glock back toward my face and waved to the other goons. "Fellas. Meet the one and only Stephanie Plum." A montage of 'hey' flooded the room. Nobody bother to lower their guns.

Sheesh! Do I look _that _dangerous?

"So...Princess. Why are you in Terry's house?"

Glancing down at Ronnie's gun then back to his shades, I answered. "I...uh...work as a bonding agent for my cousin Vinnie. You know, the one—"

"I know who he is," cutting me off.

"Yeah, well. Terry missed her court date and needs to reschedule. I was told that Vito wanted me to go along with her when she turned herself in. So...when I came by and nobody answered again, I got a little worried. I wanted to make sure she wasn't---"

Cutting me off yet again, Ronnie said. "So you broke down the back door and set off the burglar alarm?"

Alarm? I didn't hear no stinking _alarm!_ Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of sign or something to let you know a house was rigged?

I nodded. "Yup...couldn't leave without checking to see if Terry was alright."...and that _was_ basically the truth. I _was _concerned about finding Terry. I was _real_ concerned with wanting to introduce her blond head to my size seven Docs. But, I didn't mention that. Didn't think it would bode well for me.

Ronnie stared down at me as if I'd just suggested he should strip naked and screw my cousin Vinnie. "_You_ give a rat's ass about Terry Gilman?" He choked, barely holding back laughter. The other guys in the room didn't even try to. Apparently, they all found that funny. As if it was such an odd thing for the girlfriend of the guy she's screwing to worry about her health and wellbeing. Hmm...If I didn't know better, I'd say they didn't believe my concern was genuine.

I lowered my hands to my hips. "As a matter of fact, **_yes_**. You got a problem with that, Ronnie?"

I was a little miffed. _Sue me_. Considering the stuff I found upstairs and that I should've realized there was an alarm somewhere, I didn't feel up to my normal cheery self. Twelve cups of coffee, a severe lack of sleep, and a deceitful/unfaithful boyfriend didn't help much either. But, taking my frustration out on the wiseass with a gun trained on me wasn't the brightest thing in the world to do. Then again, I've never been much of a slave to logic. Breaking into a mobster house to begin with sort of proved that.

During my little explanation, the guy to the right of the door had opened up his cell phone and started talking to someone. Finally hanging up, he called out to Ronnie. "He wants to see her."

"_He?_" I croaked. I had a pretty good idea who 'he' was.

Ronnie's grin morphed into a flashy smile. Lowering his gun, he flipped his raincoat back and shoved it down into the waistband of his black jeans.

"Well, Princess. Since you '**_care_**' so much about Terry's wellbeing, you won't mind coming with us to see Vito then?" I didn't think he was actually looking for an answer, but I gave one anyway.

"Sure, always willing to help my fellow man. Let me just go get my car and I'll—"

He shook his head and cut me off. "You're riding with us," Pushing past me, he opened the answering machine's lid and took out the mini-cassette tape. When he turned back around, I glared up at him. "You know, that's so rude cutting me off like that. I remembered you having better manners than this, Ronnie."

Looking me up and down, Ronnie smiled. "_And_....I seemed to remember you having smaller tits and a flatter ass. But, obviously things change." Grabbing my arm, he said. "Let's go."

I twisted my arm from his grasp and started walking down the hall toward the front door, with Ronnie trailing me. We all walked out of Terry's place like one big happy, fashion-challenged family to a dark blue Lincoln Town car parked alongside the curb. With any luck, the 75yr. watchdog across the street had been watching, and had already alerted the authorities who'd arrive any minute now and rescue me..._Hah!_ More like Grandma and her .45, maybe. They shoved me into the backseat, lodging me between telephone-talking-goon A and pulled-a-groan-muscle-laughing goon C. Tossing-crap-outta-my-pocketbook-Goon B was busy driving, while Ronnie the rude-one rode shotgun.

So, we're off to see Vito. And Vito just wanted to talk to me. It's not like these were untrustworthy guys who'd lie to me, get me to go with them just to make it easier to dispose of my lifeless corpse in the local landfill, right?...Right?

_Crap!!!_


	17. Chapter 17: We're off to see the Godfath

Chapter 17: We're off to see the Godfather, the Godfather of Trenton!

After a good fifteen minutes of serious prayer and promises to attend Mass more often, the car stopped. Ronnie and the goons quickly filed out of the car while I remained exactly where I was. Head down. Eyes shut. Nails digging into the seat cushions beside me. Of course, this nifty plan for my survival didn't exactly pan out. Goon-C reached a hand back in and dragged my 130lbs. butt across the leather seat and out the car door. As I stumbled out onto the...asphalt? I sniffed the air. Didn't smell like a landfill. Using the side of the car to steady myself, I dared to look around me.

_Ohmigod....._Rossini's? We were at..._Rossini's?_

I blinked rapidly, hoping like hell my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Rossini's was the restaurant Ranger took me to after a nasty little incident involving a bomb, a Porsche, and a garbage truck.

I stood there next to the car staring at the restaurants' entrance, when Ronnie strolled up beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "_Aaah!_ Steph. Isn't this romantic? Kinda reminds me of or first date." I rolled my eyes at that lie and Ronnie gave me a little squeeze, "So...you still frigid as ever or what? Cause man, I gotta tell ya', if that review down at Mario's Sub Shop has any tru--"

I jerked his arm off. "Go fuck yourself, Ronnie," and started walking. Ronnie laughed long and hard from behind me. "Hey! Can't fault a guy for asking, Princess."

We all walked into Rossini's and a perky blonde hostess greeted our little group a bit **_too_** enthusiastically. Almost as if greeting rain soaked Mafioso's and their hostages were an everyday occurrence in the establishment. Then again...maybe it was. Seated at a table near the rear of the restaurant was a tanned, slightly gray haired man in his late fifties, early sixty's. From the look of his outfit--white polo shirt, light brown loose fitting khaki slacks-he appeared ready to go golfing the second the rain stopped. I'd had the particular pleasure of meeting this gentleman, up-close and personal, only once before. He was Trenton's own, Vito Grizolli. Resting to the seats on either side of him were two nicely dressed gentlemen in business suits. More goons.

Ronnie maneuvered me through the tables towards him. As we neared, Vito and his two flunkies stood up and greeted us. Vito gestured for me to sit in the seat in front of him, then spoke to Ronnie in a mixture of English and Italian, with a voice that'd rivaled my late grandpa 'smoked twenty cigars a day' Mazur. With a headshake, Ronnie stood back and led goons A, B and C back toward the waiting area near the entrance.

Sitting back down, Vito looked me over. "So...you're Joey's girl? The bounty hunter?"

I nodded, staring intently at the nice floral centerpiece lying in the middle of the table. If he didn't recognize me from our first meeting, I wasn't about to jog his memory.

Vito nodded. "Nice to meet ya." He waved to a waiter, who without prompting began refilling Vito's nearly empty wine glass. As the waiter was finishing, Vito said "Do you want anything?"

Yes, a sniper rifle and at least two hundred yards of distance from this restaurant. I shook my head and murmured. "No, thank you." He sent the waiter away.

The minutes ticked by as Vito sat there watching me, almost as if he was deciding something. As a few more passed by, I tried really hard not reach down and check my pants for leakage. Another moment passed and Vito shook his head. "Has Joseph ever told you he used to work for me?"

**_What?_** I looked up from the centerpiece. "No...can't say that he has."

Vito nodded. "Figured as much. Yeah, back when he was in high school. Used to do a couple of odd jobs for me, with his older brother Anthony."

High _School?_ Okay, that rumor must've _soooo_ passed me by somehow. Joe and his brother _worked for Vito_?

He gave a little headshake and grinned. "Cocky, little pissant. But clever. Real clever. Always knew he'd make something outta himself._ Granted_, I was a little mistaken on what that'd something would be. But, not surprised. He has that drive, you know. Lots of ambition. Lots of balls. Two things I respect in a man."

Lot's of balls? Not after I catch up to him...

Pushing his plate away, Vito sat back in his seat. "He also had a great ear for music. Could name any 50's tune in less than two chords."

Suddenly, both of his eyes hardened on me. Yikes! "You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this." Vito nodded in the general direction of Ronnie and the gang. "Why I told Ronnie to bring you here."

With Vito's sudden change in mood, I wasn't sure how to safely answer that. So, instead I opted for keeping my mouth shut and nodding. Not a bad strategy for staying alive. Besides, I was still trying to comprehend Joe once working for Vito. Morelli once WORKED for Vito? Cop Joe use to do lackey work for Trenton's Godfather of crime Vito!?

"It's so you'll understand why I'm gonna allow you to continue searching for my Terry."

Huh? "What?" I croaked. Did I miss something? I must've. Replaying the conversation over again in my head, I still couldn't piece together how Joe's mob past qualified me as a prime candidate for tracking down Terry Gilman.

Vito took a sip of wine, "I know Joseph. I've got a lot of respect for him. You're his girl. I've heard him speak about you. I want to see if what he says is true."

Oh no...I'm working for the Mob now? Screw dessert privileges, my mother's gonna kill me if...no, **_when. When_** she finds out!

Vito raised his hand and motioned Ronnie to the table. "I understand you have a knack for finding people. You got a lot of skill at it?"

I shook my head. "I'm lucky. Just lucky."

Vito shrugged, "Either way, works for me. I want you to keep looking for Terry."

Ronnie reached the table and stood silently. "My niece is suffering from some troubles as of late. These '_problems_' have made her decide it'd be better to run off to parts unknown," Putting his glass down with a loud 'thunk', he stared straight at me. "Without informing me."...Oh shit.

"The last time I talked to her was around 5:00 a.m., yesterday morning. She'd agreed to wait on you before turning herself in. We talked about other things. She hung up. Everything was fine. It wasn't until your cousin Vinnie called and informed me she and Gino were no where to be found that I realized she was missing."

I could tell by his constantly clenching hands resting on the tabletop, Vito Grizolli was one _verrry_ pissed-off man. "My people checked out Gino's place. From the looks of it, he's also decided to disappear without informing me. They may be together. They may not. Whatever."Vito spread his hands flat against the table top and leaned forward. "My main concerned is finding Terry." Pulling from his shirt pocket a piece of paper with two numbers handwritten on it, he handed it over to me.

"I already got people out looking around for her. If you should happen to find her, call me right away at that top number. It's an office number of sorts."

I took the paper and look down at it. Jeez...mobsters have office numbers now? Can telephone listing in the business section be far behind?

"If you spot her, it's _very_ important you call me first. There're some nasty people searching for Terry right now. Realnasty. For your safety and my niece's, call me. I've given permission for you to search both Terry's and Gino's places. If you're gonna check 'em out, make sure to call Ronnie first. He's the second number."

Vito picked up his fork and started eating again. "I hope Joe's faith in your abilities is justified." Dismissing me, he nodded to Ronnie.

Ronnie grabbed my right shoulder and squeezed hard. I stood up. He followed behind me as we exited the restaurant and got back in the Lincoln Town car and drove off. I was reeling. Oh God...what the hell else had Joe neglected to tell me?

I sat there mashed between the two goons, thinking. And the more I thought, the more apparent it became to me that Joe had 'connections' to Trenton's active mob community that went _way_ beyond simply once 'dating' Terry Gilman. Like during that whole bank scandal fiasco back when my Uncle Fred disappeared. Vito wouldn't go to Washington and testify unless Joe--the only detective he trusted--went along with him. And then, there was that whole Tommy Galucci business six months back. While I was getting stalked by that nutcase Clyde Cone, Joe had been**_ personally_** asked by the local families to act as their go between with the FBI on that whole situation. At the time, he couldn't answer why the families wanted him to be their go between. But now......

"Where're you parked?"

"Huh? What?" Deep in thought, it took me a moment to realize we had stopped in the front of Terry's house.

Ronnie turned around in his seat and pronounced each word exaggeratingly slow. "Where...is...your...._car_?"

I smiled. Leaning forward until I was mire inches from Ronnie's face, I yelled back. "ON THE NEXT STREET OVER, MORON!!!!"

Ronnie jerked back. I smiled even brighter. Ronnie stared back at me, then slowly, his eyes emptied and his face became very dead and very lifeless. Ronnie the wiseass had dropped the act...._Oh, boy...._I stopped smiling and eased back against the seat. Ronnie stared at me for a few more minutes, before turning around and nodded to the goon driving. The car turned around and rode down the next street over. After a minute or two Ronnie asked again. "Where's your car?"

I stared out the window, transfixed. I looked down the street, then back up, then down it again. This...this couldn't be happening. "My car...my car's missing! It was here when I left it. Why isn't it still here!?" I knew I was late on the note...okay, maybe a little more than late..._but_ I didn't think I was THAT late! At least not enough for it to get repossessed! Besides, my insurance from the shooting should've taken care of that little issue anyway.

Stolen, maybe? Its windows were missing. It had bullet holes. _Who'd want to steal a car like that!?_ And...and Grandma Bella said my car would blow up in a big fiery explosion. _How can it blow up if it's missing?_ I was starting to get hysterical. On top of all the crap that had fallen on me today, someone had to go and steal _my car!_

Ronnie didn't seem to care all that much. With a face full of mock compassion, Ronnie said, "Too bad...want us to drop you off somewhere?"

My...he even managed to sound almost sympathetic. I swallowed down a scream, "You know where Morelli's house is? Drop me off there."

When they dropped me off, they tossed my bag back to me and sped away before I was even able to shut the door. You'd think they were dumping a dead body on the side of the road or something. The rain had gone and the sun was trying to appear between flashes of clouds. I looked around the neighborhood and sighed.

That's it, I'm exhausted. I'd been running on rage, adrenaline, and coffee fumes since this morning, and even those had sputtered out. One quick check of the answering machine. Mom, mom, mom, more mom. In fact, messages 1-9 were all from my mother. None from Morelli. With a quick call to Eddie to report my car stolen, I barely reached the couch before passing out. What seemed like only a moment later the phone rang, waking me. I fumbled toward the kitchen and answered it. It was Eddie.

"Steph, are you sitting down."

Walking toward the couch, I dropped back down into the cushions. "I am now. What is it? Something wrong?" I mumbled, then started to panic. "You heard something about--?"

"No...no..." He coughed. "...so...I'd take it you're not watching television right now then?"

I found the remote and flipped the T.V. on. "I was sleeping when you called. Why did yo..." I trailed off, fascinated by what a local news station was broadcasting at the moment.

It appeared to be live coverage of a car burning. What appeared to be...MY-FREAKIN'-CAR-BURNING!  



	18. Chapter 18: Boom!

A/N: Thank you everyone for reviewing! I'm sorry I haven't responded much lately, but real life has been evil. Just know I appreciate each and every one of your review.s :o) Celes

Chapter 18: Boom!

_"Alright Trenton! Is this an awesome morning or what!? The time is 7:45 in the A.M. and this is 94.5 The Buzzzz, waking you up with the sounds of Metallica in the morning. C'mon people! Do You Wanna ROOCCKK!!" _

'Enter Sandman' throbbed out of the mini-clock/radio. Nice song. One I'd probably enjoy waking up to any other morning.....but, not this morning. Nope. Gripping the pillow firmly, I mashed it tightly against my face for a second. Nope. Definitely not this morning. 7:45 a.m. was entirely to early for this crap.

With the pillow still covering my face, I blindly reached toward the general direction of the nightstand. After a second or two of slapping around, my palm finally managed to make contact with the snooze dial.....and nothing happen. I hit it again and still Metallica played on.

_Arrrgggh._ Grasping the top of the offending piece of crap, I yanked it from the wall socket and tossed it—**_hard_**—against the bedroom wall. I didn't _wanna_ rock with Metallica right now. I wanted to sleep. It's what I should have been doing two mornings ago. If I had, I'd probably still have a...a car.

I moaned, then buried myself deeper under the covers. It wasn't like I wasn't _used to_ this by now. I mean, really, after an exploding garbage truck lands on your car you just know God's got a personal vendetta against you. But the Escape--my beautiful Escape--outlasted them all. I even started attending mass regularly in hopes of prolonging its existence. Then, I miss _one_ lousy Sunday morning Mass and BOOM! _Car go bye-bye....._

Last night I broke the sound barrier—twice—on the Ducati, getting to a Wal-Mart located ten miles down Route One. As I parked at the edge of the lot, I noticed a small crowd of customers and employees near the back-right corner hovering at the edge of police tape. Apparently, they were fascinated at the sight of firemen, arson detectives, and Trenton police officers drinking coffee, eating do-nuts, and exchanging pool winnings around the smoldering remains of my Escape. Just past the crowd, I spotted a grim faced Eddie leaning against a police cruiser. Next to him stood Carl and his partner Big Dog, both shaking their heads at the scene of people. Or maybe because they lost out on the on the pool. You can never tell with those two.

Inside the police tape a couple of cops were busy setting up portable lights to allow the other officers and arson investigators better visibility of the area. Even more Trenton cops were occupied with drawing chalk outlines around--what I could only assume were--former parts of my vehicle. Only one news crew still remained on scene, but even they were busy packing up their gear. Undoubtedly, I'd be front-page material tomorrow...again. Sigh.

Note to self: pull phone cord from wall.

Remaining in the opposite corner of the lot, I stared across at what use to be a brand new, sunny-yellow '03 Ford Escape. Which, at the moment, didn't even have the common decency to resemble low quality scrap metal. It no longer sported any doors...or tires...or trunk...or......basically, all that was left of my vehicle was its burnt melted frame and what must've once been car seats. Pieces (and I use this term liberally) of the engine still remained attached to the front, but for the most part nothing was left.

For a couple of more minutes, I stared. Amazingly disengaged from the scene in front of me....then it hit me. This was my car...._**My car**! _

Suddenly, I had a overwhelming impulse to cry, but couldn't. No...I _wouldn't._ Not about this. Oh, hell no. Pure unadulterated rage overpowered all other emotions. Whirling around, I headed straight for the closest destroyable object (ala _el Ducati_) and started kicking it.

Lousy...no good.....thieving....**_Morelli!_** Yeah, I'm blaming him for this one! I can't figure it out now, but I **_know_** this is somehow **_his fault_**.....chain me to the refrigerator will **_ya!?_**.....and that **_bitch_** Terry Gillman. Blow up my freakin' car, will they!? It's only work, Cupcake. I'm in Philly as a advisor, Sweetie. Nothings going on with Terry and me, Steph. **_Ha!_** Screwing each others' brains out behind my back counts as **_something_** Morelli! By the ninth kick, the Ducati was flat on its side and sporting a couple of nice size seven Doc dents in its frame. I knew someone had come up behind me, but didn't bother looking back. I didn't care. The destruction of the Ducati deserved all my attention.

"Feel any better?" Eddie said.

Giving it another swift kick, I growled. "Immensely".

With one last satisfying stomp, I turned around to Eddie, Carl, Big Dog and a crowd of Trenton's finest watching me **_very_** carefully. A few of them had even started to discretely inch their hands closer to their gun belts. Jeez. Suddenly, I became conscious of how deranged I must have looked to them. Taking a deep breath, I made a real effort to slow down my breathing and calm myself down.

A couple of seconds flew by, when Eddie spoke up again. "You okay?"

No. But I nodded 'yes' anyway. The crowed started to disperse, with the exception of a couple of guys who didn't look all that much like they trusted my current state of sanity. Very perceptive men. Taking a hold of my right shoulder, Eddie firmly turned me around and started walking. He, along with Carl and Big Dog led me further back into the corner. When we got near the hedges, I stopped and swung around, glaring at each of them.

Biting off each word. "_What happened to my car?"_

Grinning, Carl rocked back on his heels. "Ain't it obvious...."

"...It exploded." Big Dog finished for him.

I gave them both **_'the look' _**and took a step toward them. Both Carl and Big Dog raised their hands in mock surrender, before turning around and headed back toward the exploding car circus.

I turned to Eddie. "What happened?"

Eddie scanned the parking lot absently. "I can't tell you much, Steph. All I know is that a bunch of calls came in..." checking his watch, "....a little over five hours ago from customers reporting a loud "boom" followed by a large fireball erupting from the back of the lot. From the description the customers were giving us we were able to put two and two together and figure out it was your car on fire". Eddie paused. "Well...that and who the hell else would own an exploding Escape".

Eddie grinned. I growled.

He continued on. "We're still taking down statements from eyewitnesses at the moment. Plus there's a security camera in the lot, so hopefully well be able to piece together what happen quickly".

Sighing, I look toward the remains of my car. "That it?"

Eddie was quiet for a second. "We found two bodies in the front seat of your car".

Whoa! That got my attention. I turned from the car to Eddie. _"What!?" _

Eddie nodded. "Two bodies. Burnt to a crisp. They're in the hands of the coroner at the moment. I can't tell you anything else besides that".

Two people were in my car when it exploded? "Do you have any idea who they could be?"

Eddie shook his head, then hesitate for a moment. He seemed to be struggling with something and was about to speak, but a detective across the lot called out his name. Eddie yelled back "In a sec" then turned to me.

"Steph.....don't look for Morelli to show up anytime soon." With that, Eddie jogged back across the lot.


	19. Chapter 19: Time to take charge!

Chapter 19: Time to take charge!

I don't remember much after that. With the exception of pulling the phone cord from the wall and turning the clock radio on to chase away the silence, the rest of the night was a blur.

Rolling out of bed, I attended to my morning rituals of shower, shampoo and coffee. Leaning against the kitchen countertop with a half empty cup of coffee in my hand, I watched Rex happily snooze away the day, oblivious to all my current problems. As I gazed at Rex's peaceful little form curled up in his little soup can, all I could help but think about was...buying a cat. A Really. Big. Cat. One that hasn't eaten in weeks.

Hey, if I've got problems, so should Rex!

Hanging my head in shame, I moaned. Christ. I was actually contemplating assassinating my hamster! Apologizing to Rex, I left him an extra helping of grapes, raisins, nuts and a promise to pick up that hamster ball he'd been twitching about since we saw that old Simpson's episode.

Pulling out a pint of Rocky Road ice cream, I backed up into the den and flopped down on the couch. Picking up the DVD player's remote, I mashed play while diving into my half-empty pint of ice cream. Ghostbusters, my all time favorite movie, started roaring from the television speakers and I was able to relax and enjoy myself for thirty or so minutes.

But....only for those thirty or so minutes. About halfway through, I couldn't help but wander back down to reality. Let's see...I have no car. A soon to be ball-less boyfriend who's MIA. A mob boss wanting me to help locate his missing niece. And I'm basically broke. What to do?

I sighed into my now empty ice cream carton. As it were, I couldn't do much about the car, ball-less boyfriend, or Terry's whereabouts...but the cash? In front of me, on the coffee table, lay my current stack of FTAs. Ignoring both Terry and Gino's files, I examined both Frankie Copozzi and David Smith's.

David Smith...he would be the easiest. I checked the DVD clock. 9:53 a.m. Hmm...this early in the morning, he'd likely be passed out in front of his television set. But, Frankie...I shivered. God knows where Frankie was right now. With both files still in my lap, I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Yo." Ranger.

"Yo yourself, and before you make some smart remark, yes, that was my car exploding on the news last night. No, I don't want a loner."

Ranger paused. "It was inevitable, Babe."

"No, it _wasn't_!"

"Keep telling yourself that." I could _feel_ him doing his silent laughter thing again.

I slapped the files down on the coffee table. "Are you going to help me capture Copozzi or what?"

"Whenever you feel up to it, Babe."

"I feel up to it _now._ When's the soonest we can go after him?"

Ranger paused. "Be there in thirty." Click. Hmm...no mention of Halloween. Tossing the phone toward the end of the couch, I sighed. Ranger's little revenge plot was now officially one day away. My most humiliating week ever had not yet ended.

Putting the files back in my bag, I headed upstairs and finished getting ready. The weather was a lot colder outside, so instead of wearing my usual flannel shirt and tee, I opted for a thick forest green turtleneck sweater, blue jeans and boots. I was just stuffing my hair underneath my Navy S.E.A.L.S. cap when I heard a loud knock on the front door.

Huh...Ranger? Knocking?

Racing downstairs, I peeked through the side window. Nope, not Ranger. Mr. Crafter from next door stood outside with...yikes, _Bob!?_ I forgot Bob again! I quickly unlatched the door and greeted Mr. Crafter. He told me he didn't mind having to watch Bob all yesterday _and_ last night. I cringed. But he had a doctor's appointment this morning and couldn't keep him. Taking a hold of Bob's leash, I thanked Mr. Crafter profusely and shut the door.

Looking down at an overly excited Bob, I thought. Oh, boy. This was gonna be a problem. Bob needed a sitter. He was just starting to outgrow his ESPN babysitter phase. I didn't know how long it would take to capture Copozzi, but I was confident it would take more than a couple of hours. And ESPN only held Bob's attention for an hour and a half at the most if no one was around. Leading him into the kitchen, I fed him a quick breakfast and took him for his normal morning walk down the street. As we neared the house again, Ranger's Bronco pulled up right besides us.

Ignoring all 300-watts trained on me...well _trying_ to ignore... I opened the back door and let Bob in, before hopping into the passenger seat next to Ranger.

Ranger raised his eyebrow and I rolled my eyes. "Bob's sitter has a doctor's appointment and I can't leave him alone at the house for long. So..." I shrugged.

Ranger looked back at Bob, who had instantly started to pass out from his little ten-minute stroll down the street. Shaking his head, Ranger pulled away from the curb. A whole five minutes passed by and Ranger hadn't said a thing. Finally, with no signs of him elaborating further on our plan to get Copozzi, I broke down and asked him if he knew where Copozzi was.

"Copozzi's been holed up with a Mark S. Coleman for the past two weeks".

Mark S. Coleman? Re-looking through Copozzi file, I saw no mention of a Coleman listed under friend, relative or significant other.

I turned to Ranger. "Who's Mark Coleman?"

"The guy who lives two doors down from Copozzi's old apartment. Copozzi's been renting a room from him for the past month and a half".

I sat stunned. "_What!_" I'd wasted endless hours for the last two weeks searching every hole in this city for that drunk and he'd been staying less than ten feet from his old address!? Argh! The rat must die!

Ranger continued. "I've had the apartment under surveillance for the past 72 hours. Twenty minutes ago Copozzi left to work out at a gym across from the complex. Going by the past three days, he's likely to be in there for the next hour and a half."

A wino that works out. I still can't fathom that. "Are we going in after him or wait him out?"

"Wait him out. Less likely to run if he's tired".

I nodded. Putting the Copozzi folder down, I picked up Smith's.

"Does...this leave us with enough time to check on another one of my FTA's?"

I looked back at Ranger. "This other guy shouldn't be much of a problem. He's probably already passed-out in front of his television set. I was going to take Lula with me to pick him up later, but since we have a couple of minutes to waste..."I trailed off.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Ranger reached for his cell phone, flipped it open and made a quick call to Batcentral. After a moment of one word responses, he flipped it closed.

"I'm yours, Babe."

Oooh, if he only knew how many fantasies I've had that started out with him saying those words. Then again, with his ESP powers, he probably did. As I fought a losing struggle with my hormones, my stomach growled.

Ranger lifted an eyebrow. "Hungry?" Wiseass.

I sent him my patented death glare. But, him being Batman and all, he showed no visible signs of crumbling.

"Would it be too much for you to stop by McDonald's? Bob and I haven't eaten breakfast yet." The pint of ice cream didn't count. Neither did that little snack I fed Bob.

Ranger lips twitched. "You still moan when you eat, Babe?"

I crossed my arms. And then, only cause I'm _soooo_ mature, stuck my tongue out at him.


	20. Chapter 20: Recovery 1: David Smith

(a/n: Yeah, Yeah. It's short. But, I promise the next chapter will **_more_** then make up for it. insert evil laughter here. Thanks again, for all your encouragements! :o)

Chapter 20: Recovery #1: David Smith

After a quick breakfast at Micky D's, (courtesy of Ranger) we were off to bag David Smith. We were less then fifteen minutes away when, to my horror, the theme to "Jaws" erupted from my pocketbook. Sinking down in my seat, I didn't bother to hide my grimace.

Ranger grinned. "Nice. Does it play anything special for me?"

"Ha!" I mumbled, while hiding my suddenly bright red face in my bag. "You wish."

It took a minute of hunting before I was able to retrieve my cell phone. Yup. I groaned inwardly. There was no mistaking the person on the other end.

"Hi, mom!"

"_Stephanie?" _Huh?

"Grandma?" I glanced over toward Ranger. For a split second, I could've sworn he shivered.

"_Thank Goodness, I've finally gotten a hold of you! I've been trying to call you for the past two days." _

"Why are you whispering?"

"_Your mother's in...e... nex...oom,"_ she mumbled.

I strained to hear. "What?"

"_I said, your mother's in the nex_t...the next....oh...dear..._Ellen! _Didn't see you standing there!"

I held in a sigh, and listened in on my mother and grandma arguing.

"Give me the phone." Ah-uh. Mom was using her no-more-dessert-for-you-young-lady tone. I was in trouble.

"Grandma, tell her it isn't me!"

"Got ya...Stephanie says to tell you it isn't her."

I smacked my forehead._ "**Grandma!**"_

"Mother, give me the phone...**_Now_!**"

For a second, I entertained the thought of faking a bad connection and hanging; but that would just likely prolong the enviable. Sitting up, I steeled myself. Alright, Plum. You can't keep running from your mother forever. You're an adult. Act like one!

"Stephanie Michelle Plum! Why haven't you called me?" my mother yelled. Instantly, I was reduced to that of a four year old child.

"It wasn't my fault Mom. Joe got called into work and then Vito--"

"Oh, dear God! So it's true. _**You're working for Vito!**?_" she wailed. I could almost see her doing the sign of the cross. "My daughter's a hitwoman!"

I laid my head against the car window. "I'm not a hitwoman."

"Wasn't finding dead bodies enough for you!?"

"_I'm not a hitwoman!" _I spared a glance at Ranger. If he was paying attention--and I just _knew_ he was--he hid it well.

"Look, Mom. I'm coming over tomorrow. I promise."

"You'd**_ better_**," -click-

I sighed. Great. Just Great.

Disconnecting, I toss my cell back into my bag, then glanced over toward Ranger. He was sporting one of his killer thousand-watt smiles, which pissed me off.

Crossing my arms, I glared at him. "Not a word, you hear me? Not. One. Single. Word."

Ranger nodded. "Got it."

"I mean it, Ranger!"

He nodded once more. "Comprendo, Babe."

We spent the rest of the ride in silence....okay, the silence was more like me sending silent death glares at Ranger and him silently laughing them off.

Whatever.

Anyway, as it turned out, apprehending Smith wasn't going to be as quick, **_or_** as easy as, I'd previously thought. Big Surprise. When we stopped by his house, his girlfriend, Mona, answered and informed us Smith was busy getting three sheets to the wind at, _Jake's_ on Stark St. Within minutes we were there, parking right in front of main entrance.

Cutting the engine, Ranger unhooked his seatbelt and turned to me. "You armed?"

Oops. "Er...no." Most of my gear was still lying on Terry Gilman's floor.

Opening his car door, Ranger got out and headed toward the back of the bronco. Popping the trunk, he leaned over, pulled out a utility belt, and laid it across his shoulder. Pulling out a second, smaller belt, Ranger shut the trunk. "Not a good idea to go in unprepared, Babe," he said, giving me his best Professor Higgins look.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the smaller utility belt from his hand.

Securing his into place, Ranger walked by, then paused, near the back window of the bronco. "Babe..."

"Yeah?" I said, wrapping the belt around my waist.

"How long can you leave him alone?"

Eh? I looked through the backseat's window at the very much pooped-out Bob. After a hardy breakfast of four egg McMuffins and three orders of hotcakes, sausages & eggs; Bob could barely move his little head. Let alone, take bites out of Ranger's cream colored leather interior.

Yet...I felt a need to gloss over this and have fun with Ranger. Yeah, I know. Sick. Especially considering in a day or so I would be paying for the last time I played a joke on him.

Finished securing my own little utility belt, I looked up at Ranger and smiled. "Let's see...Bob's just eaten, so....we've got about a good fifteen minutes or so to get things done. Anything over that..." I shook my head slowly, giving the bronco my best pessimistic look. After a moment, I sighed and shrugged.

"I like this truck, Babe."

Bob yawned, giving Ranger an exclusive view of his massive canines. I smiled. "You can get another one."

Ranger cut his eyes to me. "I like _this_ truck, Babe..."

Hmm. That kinda sounded like a threat. Of course, I didn't for one moment believe Bob was in any danger of ending up in a third world stuffed toy factory. Rocking back on my heels, I started shaking my head. "Too bad. You should've gotten him that fifth McMuffin like I asked. It'd be thirty minutes instead of fifteen."

I turned around and started walking toward the bar entrance, when Ranger grabbed my waist and gently pushed me against the bronco door. Trapping me nicely between both his arms, Ranger leaned in just an inch or so from my lips.

"Play nice, Babe. You still owe me." His lips hovered a moment over mine, before moving pass and lightly touching my cheek. Pushing himself away from the car, Ranger stood back. "Your show, Babe."

"Huh!?" The Hungarian in me was making it hard to think. It kept suggesting I grab Ranger by the shirt, shove Bob out of the backseat and...._whoa!_ Mental head slap. Stay focused, Plum! Trying to regain some dignity, I straightening, stepped past Ranger and headed into _Jake's_.

It was still relatively early, so it wasn't a huge surprise to see not that many people around. Besides the bartender, there were only three other people in the room. Two sixty-year-old, bald guys playing Dominos in booth at the far corner; and a brown haired, slightly overweight, guy in his mid-twenties sitting on a barstool.

Ranger spoke from behind me. "That your man at the bar?"

I pulled the stun gun from the belt. "Yep."

"Then go get 'em, tiger." I was sorely tempted to go _Grrrr_, but thought better of it. Walking over, I stopped right next to Smith's bar stool.

"Excuse me, Mr. Smith?"

He ignored me. Instead, he kicked back the last of his beer and belched. Ugh!

Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Mr. Smith. I represent your Bail Bonder, Vincent Plum."

"So."

"You've missed your court date, Mr. Smith. And you have to reschedule."

Smith glanced at me then. "I don't feel like it. Talk to me later."

Oh boy, he was going to be difficult again. I pushed the stun gun into the on position and leaned forward. "This isn't negotiable, Mr. Smith."

He turned to me fully. "Look you—"he said, then paused. His eyes bulged, as full recognition hit. "_YOU!! "_

I took a sharp step backward as Smith stood up from his barstool.

"You Bitch! You and that fat friend of yours. Its cause of you I only have one nut now. The doctors had to remove the other one after you set that fat freak loose on me!"

Whoa. I shook my head. Lula did **_that_** much damage? "No, you only have one nut because you kept calling my friend Lula a bunch of names. She really hates it when people call her names."

Mr. Smith was turning beet red. I looked over his shoulder and saw Ranger stepping up closer behind him. Reassured, I continued. "Look, David. I'm sorry you got your ass kicked. Really, I am. But, you really need to reschedule your court date. Now. So we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your pick."

Mr. Smith fumed. Turning to the bartender Smith told him to add his drinks to his tab.

I smiled. "Good. Turn around and put your—_ugh,_"Smith shoved me on my butt, tried to move pass me, and out the backdoor. I stuck a leg out, and sent Smith crashing to the bar room floor at my very feet. Her got to his knees, turn toward me, and started clawing up my legs. In that instant, adrenaline to control and I rolled on my side and launched a swift, hard kick directly at Smith's face. Immediately, I felt a bone-cracking crunch, as my boots made contact with center of his face. Smith jerked back, immediately; hands clutching his nose and mouth.

Pushing myself backwards until I had a bit of space between us, I picked up my fallen stun gun.

Smith looked up at me; eyes shining, nose bleeding, and spiting teeth out as if they were watermelon seeds. "Mah teeph , yo' brok mah teeph!"

I snorted. "Could've been worst. I was aiming for the other nut."

Smith spit out a couple more teeth, then leaned to his side. Ranger, who had been standing behind him, kicked him over onto his stomach, stunned him, then secured his hands behind his back.

"You okay, Babe?" He said, patting the unconscious Smith down for weapons.

"Just peachy." I breathed. Quickly coming down off my adrenalin high.

Satisfied that he was unarmed, Ranger looked up at me with one of his patented 300-watt smiles. "One broken nose, several smashed teeth, and possibly a jaw line fracture. Excellent work, tiger."

I glared up at him, then thought: oh, hell, why not? _"Grrrrrrrr!"_


	21. Chapter 21: Christ! It’s the Feds!

(a/n: Thank you, thank you, thank you! To everyone whose reviewed and e-mailed me with how much you've enjoyed BDTH! I truly appreciate each and every one of your comments to no end!  
Okay, enough my ego tripping. On with the story!!!)  
  


Chapter 21: Christ! It's the Feds!

Because of my...um..._over exuberance_ in taking down Smith, we had to make a quick detour by St. Francis Hospital before hauling Smith into the station. Well...mainly Ranger was doing the hauling. I was too busy drooling over the view from behind. Securing Smith to the drop-off bench, Ranger nodded to me and took off down the hall. For nearly fifteen minutes, I stood patiently in front of the dock lieutenant waiting for my receipt.

And of course, during this time frame, nearly every cop in the whole damn station just _had_ to make a pass by the lieutenant's desk and take a gander at poor little Smith. As if being one nut short wasn't enough. My little kick to the face resulted in a fractured right cheekbone, busted lip, and the lost of seven of his formally front teeth. Injuries I was quite certain he'd be extremely pissed about when the pain meds wore off. But as it stood, Smith slouched further down the wooden bench, mouth open, snoring louder then my Grandma after downing half a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Time ticked by, and still more cops came in and left just as fast; barely making it through the door before bursting into hysterics.

Nice to know I'm amusing somebody today.

The lieutenant finally gave me my body receipt, and I made a speedy retreat into the hall looking for Ranger. It didn't take long. All I had to do was follow the trail of drooling women blushing, and walking into walls.

Sigh.

Ranger leaned back casually against the wall, watching me as I approached. Or at least I thought he was. It was sorta hard to tell with the mirrored shades hiding his eyes and all. As I drew nearer, he broke out into a magnificent 300-watt smile; which, in turn, caused the police woman walking just ahead of me to stop, gasp, and stagger straight into me. Knocking me on my ass. Jeez-Louise!

She turned around, thoroughly embarrassed, and apologized. Helping me up, she mumbled something about the heat and walked back up the hall. I shook my head and watched her go.

"Don't you ever get tired of that?"

Ranger smile broaden to 600-percent wattage. I rolled my eyes and moved on passed him.

"Babe?"

I turned around, so that I was walking slightly backwards. "Yeah?"

"You handled the FTA pretty good, Babe. Proud of you."

I smiled. "Thanks...Does that also mean you're proud enough to let bygones be bygones, and let me get out of whatever it is you're planning Friday?"

"Nope." Darn.

I was still walking backwards, when Ranger abruptly stopped. Before I could wonder why, I crashed into something bulky and solid. _Ouch_! I started to fall down when the bulky thing reached out its arms and grabbed me by the waist.

Quickly righting myself, I mumbled. "Thanks," and turned around.

The bulky and solid thing turned out to be a tall Hispanic gentleman; maybe in his late thirties, with dark brown hair, bushy mustache, and a neatly cropped beard.

"You're welcome," he responded. His voice was deep, with just a hint of an accent. Both dark brown eyes inspected me from top to bottom, before cutting over to Ranger; who stared right straight back. The hairs at the base of my neck rose in silent warning. Uh-oh. Something was terrible wrong, and I was standing smack-dab in the middle of it.

I took a step back from the strange man and closer to Ranger. The stranger's lips curled, forming a less than sincere smile. Nodding his head, he spoke to Ranger in clear, rapid Spanish. I hand no clue what he was saying. The only word I'd managed to make out was "Mañoso". Whatever else he'd said, Ranger chose to ignore it and not reply. The man slowly dropped his smile, and the atmosphere rose up several notches. Jebus! What was going on here?!

The man nodded once more, and began to walk around us. As he passed near Ranger, he leaned over and whispered something else to him in Spanish, and continued down the hall. Ranger followed the guy's movements with a weird intensity. Without look looking, he reached into his pocket and handed me the keys to the Bronco.

"Wait in the car. I'll be back in second," he ordered, then headed down the hall after the guy.

I blinked, and stared after him as he turned the corner. Did he just **_order _**me to 'wait in the car'?

I looked behind me at the double-framed, Plexiglas door leading to the parking lot; then back up the hallway where Ranger had disappeared.

Oh....yeah. _That_ was gonna happen. I started walking in the same direction Ranger had gone. And was almost to the two-way corner where he'd disappeared around, when a voice that made my very skin crawl floated from the adjacent hall. Ollie. Blubber-butt Ollie. The man who'd tried on several occasions to have me arrested for impersonating a bounty hunter, was making his way down the hallway. **_Ugh._** Since, I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be this far out, I quickly backtracked. There was no telling what Ollie would do to me if he found me loitering around the place.

Scrambling back up the hall, I passed by the area where most of the police officers sat behind their desk filling out paperwork. I made a quick search of the room, and spotted my good friend Eddie doing likewise. Maneuvering passed the other guys; I reached Eddie and sat down on the corner of his desk. "Hey Eddie!"

He looked up surprised. "Steph! What are you doing here?"

I showed him my body receipt. "Bringing in an FTA...and," I hesitated. Couldn't say spying on Ranger, now could I?

Hmm...oh hell, why not ask about... "Have you heard anything about a certain rat fink?"

Eddie's eyes flickered past me. Following his gaze, I turned, and looked across the room. Right next to the coffee machine stood two guys, in black suits, huddled in conversation. Oh-kay...not much of an impressive sight. I was turning back around to ask Eddie what the big deal was, when another pair of black suited guys caught my attention...and then another...and another. Geez! I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before. Black suited guys had blanketed most of the work room: sitting on desks; talking to uniformed officers; etcetera.

Eyes slightly bulging, I turned back to Eddie.

"Not a thing," he stared up me intently.

Pay dirt! "...Later?" I whispered? He gave a barely noticeable nod.

I let out a breath. "How about my car?"

Eddie grinned. "Now_, that_ I can talk about. It's not every time one of your ticking time bombs has a body stashed in it."

I glared at him. He continued on. "From what the medical examiner wrote in his report, both bodies were male, in the 30-45 age range and....sporting a matching set of .45 caliber bullet holes to the temple."

A .45 to the head? I shivered. "Yuk, Eddie. Very....ewww."

"Tell me about it. We're still trying to use dental records to ID them. The surveillance video from the Wal-Mart is a bust. The parking lot's camera system hasn't been working for over a year now and the manager saw no need to fix it as long as the ones on the inside still worked. But, we did manage to locate a witness who saw your car getting stolen."

Witness? I pushed off Eddie's desk. "What!?"

Eddie started shaking his head. "Yeah, a Mrs. Betty Jean Scallion,"

I didn't bother to hide my grimace. Ah...perfect. It would have to be the little old lady I'd nearly rundown a few days ago. Eddie grinned. I hadn't had a chance to tell him about the sidewalk incident, but he was just as in tuned to the burg grapevine as anybody else.

Eddie rocked back and forth in his chair. "Yep, she lives a couple of houses down from where you left your car. She called into report it this morning. Apparently yesterday, her dog Nibbles had been barking like crazy at the front door. When she went to look, she didn't notice anything wrong outside. Ten minutes later, Nibbles started up again. But this time, she claims to have seen two individuals arguing: one female, light curly brown hair shoulder length, blue jeans, green flannel shirt, shades and a black umbrella."

Hmm...except for the umbrella, it kinda sounded like she was describing me. "And the other?"

"Male, tall. Tan complexion. Wearing a black biker jacket, black jeans, and boots. Both stood on the crosswalk in front of her house, arguing and pointing at your vehicle. About five minutes later, the female crossed the street and head toward your car with the guy trailing after her. When the female got next to it she "clicked" the alarm system off and got in."

Whoa. Leaning across the desk, I stared at Eddie. "Hold on a sec., she _disarmed_ my alarm system?"

He nodded. "You lend your keys to anybody lately?"

"No," Rat fink! "That it?"

Eddie's grin got wider. "Nope. I haven't gotten to the best part yet. After five minutes, she says she saw seven 'ninjas' appear outta thin air. Literally, popping-up like gophers from trees, bushes and even jumping off the rooftops of houses. They rushed over to, two black sedans and pulled off after your Escape."

"Ninjas, Eddie?"

"Ninjas. All dressed in black, with hooded masks covering their faces. She was very adamant about the ninja thing. Her eight year old grandson Bennie is dressing up as one for Halloween. And I quote 'know a ninja when I see one, damnit' end quote."

I blinked. "Eddie. Are you seriously telling me my evil clone drove off in my car with a mysterious biker? Then seven gopher-popping ninjas erupted from the shadows and went after it?" I know my life is screwed up. But, really. I refused to believe it's _that_ screwed up.

Eddie started swinging in his chair again. "If it helps, she'd been sampling a drop or two of Capt. Cuervo for 'medicinal purposes' while she called in the report."

I groaned. Great. Just freakin' great. My clone, a biker, and a bunch of ninjas made off with my car. My life was sounding more and more like a bad barroom joke everyday. Suddenly, I felt that twitchy feeling you get when somebody's watching you between my shoulder blades. I looked up at Eddie. He was busy looking past me again to the other side of the room. The twitchy feeling intensified tenfold.

Suddenly, Eddie took more of an interested in the paperwork on his desktop. "Hey, Steph. I hate to brush you off, but I gotta finish this paper work."

I gave Eddie a fake smile. "Sure Eddie. You're off tomorrow, right? Feel like bring me some donuts?"...and telling me about Morelli?

He didn't look up from the files. "Sure, gotta get back to work though. See you, Steph."

Nonchalantly, I turned around. In my short five minute conversation with Eddie, a small crowd of black suits had gathered near the coffee machine. And apparently, I had become the room's center of attention.

O-kay...

I was about to walk passed them, and see if Ranger was waiting outside, when a brilliant idea struck me. Turning back to Eddie, I clutched my stomach and said very loudly, "Eddie. I think I'm gonna be sick. Where's the bathroom?"

He froze. Slowly he looked up from his paperwork and gave me a measured-don't-do-anything-stupid-Stephanie stare. I gave him back a wide-eyed "who me" look.

Eddie sighed and mumbled quietly, "Same place it always is, Steph," then in a louder voice, "down that hallway, to the left, near the stairs."

"Thanks, Eddie." I passed Eddie's desk and went down the hall, then mistakenly up the side staircase to the second floor, and into the Crimes Against Persons unit. After one more wrong turn, I just _happen_ to find myself near Morelli's office. Wow...imagine that. Anyway, once I reached his office, I lightly tested the door knob.

Locked.

_Damnit_! What's the matter with people? Is it _sooo_ hard to leave a door unlocked for once? I was swinging my foot back to kick the door in frustration, when I heard rustling sounds from behind it. Shit. I stared at the door plaque with Morelli's name written across it, in disbelief. _He was **in** there?!_ That son of a.... I debated for a second whether to kick the door down, knock politely, or hide and surprise him with a face full of pepper spray.

Before I could decide which, instinct took over and I was rushing back like a coward toward the last corner I emerged from. Stopping, I pressed myself flat against the wall and cautiously leaned around for a peek. I had made it just in time. The door swung open and out walked..._Darn it!_

It wasn't Morelli.

It was some guy, maybe around my age, who walked out of the office into the hallway. He was dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black pants, matching tie, and a dark blue raid jacket folded across his left arm. He's dark auburn hair was cropped short, barely reaching his shirt collar, and..._boy_ was _he_ buff. Hmm...he might've been a new cop, but the outfit made me _seriously_ doubt that. FBI, maybe? Why was he in Morelli's office?

He put both hands on the small of his back, and stretched. Pulling a key from his pocket, he relocked Morelli's office door, twisting it once to make sure it was locked, then heading in the opposite direction as me. I was so absorbed with watching the guy walk away, that I didn't notice who was standing just behind me until his arm snaked around my waist. And by then, it was too late.

(A/N: The next few chapters will be...slightly darker then your normal Plum fic...I think. vague aren't I? Translation: Not much Plum humor, but a **_lot_** of action. Hope you enjoy it anyway! Please read and review. Thanks!)


	22. Chapter 22: Kidnapped!

(a/n: Not the best set of chapters I've ever written. But, my apologies if the writing seems off.)

Chapter 22: Kidnapped!

Someone's arm had wrapped around my waist. Before I could even react, I was flying--_literally_. Just like a bird, except backwards. Which was kind of cool...or so it seemed. Right up until my back slammed painfully through the emergency stairwell exit door.

After that everything pretty much righteously sucked.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I gagged. _Pain_. Red hot and blinding raced along my lower right side. My vision blurred, as tears spilled down my cheek. Clutching my throbbing middle, I struggle to my knees. Without a doubt, I'd broken at least a rib or two.

As my coughing gradually subsided, the light from the open door faded, plunging the stairwell in near darkness.

This was not good. Not good at _all._

Seconds later a pair of brown boots appeared next to me, unmoving. I knelt there panting, trying in vain not to pass out on the floor, when he started chuckling. _Chuckling_?! He was finding this _amusing_!?

Before I could register his movements, he kicked me—twice--on my uninjured left side. Effectively, knocking the wind out of me, and sending me back to the floor in pain. I rocked back and forth, holding onto my newly injured left side, trying to come to grips with the pain. Chuckling once more, he bent down and grabbed the back of my green sweater, pulling me off the floor effortlessly.

His lips brushed against my ear, as he whispered. "You are really a piece of work, sweetheart. You know that? Unbelievable!?" Wrapping one arm tightly around my waist, he used the other to press something sharp against my throat.

"I can't believe you actually walked straight into this police station? _The freakin'_ _police station!_?" he laughed. "Never ever pegged you to be that stupid, Terry. Really...,"...Terry?****Did he just call me...**_Terry!? _**

Oh...my...God. It wasn't enough that my world was swimming due to lack of proper oxygen and mind numbing pain. But now I was hallucinating too. Did he really call me **_Terry?!_** The bristle of a five o'clock shadow scrapped against the skin underneath my ear, causing me to instinctively cringe away...which of course, wasn't such a good idea in my current position. My attacker used it as an excuse to press the knife further into my neck, bringing a gasp from me.

He whispered. "Alright, sweetheart. Down we go. No trouble. No sounds. Understand?"

I didn't reply. He pressed the knife further into my neck, "I said, do you understand?"

I croaked, "Yes," and he laughed.

Pushing me forward, he said. "Move," and we moved.

Halfway down the stairs, my mind finally registered the full extent of my current situation. _I was being kidnapped!_ For the love of God, I was getting kidnapped--_in a police station_! Why the hell would someone want to kidnap me? I haven't done anything that warranted kidnapping...okay...I haven't done anything **_recently_** that warranted kidnapping. On the heels of that last thought came another one that chilled me to the core; cut through the mental fog of fear and pain.

This man...was going to kill me.

I felt it with every bone in my body. The second I stepped out of this police station, I was as good as dead. And with that, I knew I had nothing else to lose.

Reaching up quickly, I grabbed his wrist and pushed down away from my throat. Using my full weight I shoved him, causing him to lose balance and hit the brick wall. Wasting no time, I followed up with a hard kicked backwards that hit just below his right kneecap.

He yelled out; dropping both his arms from around my waist and the knife to the floor below. Free, I twisted around and launched my knee square at his groin and connected. Dropping like a rock, my attacker screamed for dear life, as he clutched his precious family jewels.

I smiled; but quickly frowned as I rapidly lost _my_ balance. _Oh, shit! _With only a few seconds to turn around and brace myself, I tumbled, front first, down the rest of the stairs, land with a resounding **_crunch_** on the first floor.

Whimpering, I silently screamed as a new batch of pain erupted throughout my body. My right side burned, along with my knee. Blood eased down from a cut near my temple. There wasn't a spot on me that didn't scream out in pain. Yet, I still managed to rollover and crawl toward the door that lead back into the police station's lobby. I had one hand out reaching toward it, when my attacker grabbed my legs and pulled me backwards.

I turned and launched a fist toward his face; blooding his nose and causing him to rear back. We struggled some more. And as we did, I couldn't help but wonder; where the hell were the police? Couldn't they hear the noise? Couldn't they hear me yelling for _my life_? With a shock that made me hesitate, I finally noticed what my attacker was wearing. A Trenton police officers' uniform.

_Omigod! I was being assaulted by a Trenton police officer!? He even had a little has a little name tag. Officer Diego Ma... _

Suddenly, my head slammed against the floor, dazing me. Flipping me onto my stomach, my attacker twisted my arm around into a painful angle, as he straddled me from behind.

Breathing heavily, and thoroughly pissed, he leaned over me. "I told you not to make trouble, sweetheart....I told you not to make a sound...but...you had to, didn't you....stupid bitch," he mumbled.

The unmistakable sting of a needle entering my skin and I bucked, trying in vain to throw him off of me. I laid there for endless seconds, while my body rapidly numbed from an eerie paralyzing warmth. I opened my mouth to scream but ended up gasping for air. Slowly, the world around me dimmed, becoming harder and harder to focus on. Vaguely, I'd realized I must have lost a minute or two somewhere, because I was now outside the police station being roughly shoved into a small dark space, while two male voices spoke over me.

In my last moments of consciousness, I prayed:_ Dear god, please don't let me die like this! _And then surrendered to the awaiting darkness.


	23. Chapter 23: Dream a little dream of me

(a/n: Not the best set of chapters I've ever written. But, my apologies if the writing seems off.)

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Chapter 23: Dream a little dream of me...

It was utterly amazing...and I'm not quite sure how I did it....But, strangely...I was ten again.

I knew I had to be, because there was no way in the world a 30yr. Stephanie Plum could fit into the 3 ½ foot chair fort in the center of her....yep...Grandma's living room. Lowering the sheet back down, I quickly went to work devouring a plate of Double Dutch chocolate brownies and cutting the hair off of Valerie's third favorite Barbie doll. Unfortunately, (for Valerie that is) fave's, one and two, decided to join the alligators in the sewer on my way over.

Just as I finishing cutting of the last section of Barbie's hair, the corner of the sheet lifted and the Grandma Mazur of my childhood stared back at me. She looked around the tent at the blonde Barbie hair covering me and the floor, and suppressed a smile. "I see you've been busy."

I shrugged, eating the last of my brownie.

"Your mother's here."

I mumbled. "So?"

Grandma frowned. "Hiding in here forever won't help anything, Stephanie. You have to talk to her. "

I picked up another brownie, without responding. Grandma sighed, and with a loud groan, reached into the tent and retrieved the plate of brownies. _Hey!?_

_"Grandma!"_

Holding them up, she smiled, "I'll go put these in a bag for you,"then left.

_Aww!_ I sat there a few seconds. Just to prove I wasn't moving till I was good and ready...which turned out to be three seconds after I finished my brownie.

Putting down Val's new and improved bald Christmas Barbie, I crawled out my from under my tent into..._the den of my apartment!?_ I blinked, looked around me, then behind.....yep. Sure enough, I was on all fours in the middle of my den, right between my end table and the television set. And there, right next to me in the center the couch, sat my mother. Face creased in a deep frown that showed every bit of her disproval at my current floor position. Oh, boy.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum! Why are you doing on the floor like that?"

"I....uh...um..." I looked around me. What the hell was going on?

My mother sighed loudly. "Honestly, Stephanie. You'd think I'd raised you in a barn." Standing up, she reached down pull me to my feet. Wobbling, I couldn't for the life of me stand straight, and nearly fell back down again before she reached out and caught me.

"Are you feeling okay? You don't look too good."

I didn't feel to good either. Helping me to the couch, she reached over and checked my pulse. After a minute, she placed her stethoscope against my chest and listened. Wow? Wasn't that interesting. Somewhere between getting off the couch and catching me, my mothers' clothes had changed into that of a nurse's uniform.

A serious frown edged crossed her lips, and slowly started shaking her head. "This...this doesn't sound good, Stephanie."

Somewhere close by, sirens blared adding to my killer headache. Clutching my head, I groaned. "You're telling me."

My mother patted my shoulder, and helped me down the hall to my bedroom. "Why don't you go lay down for awhile? I'll even make you a nice bowl of chicken soup." Ooh soup...that sounded good.

"Okay," I mumbled, resting my head.

It was just a second. I swear--two at max, that my eyes were closed, and my head lay against the pillowcase. Yet. When I re-opened them...it was the dead of night. Moonlight flowed through my curtains, illuminating everything with an unearthly glow. I groaned. The room was way,_ way_ too bright! How was I suppose to get any sleep? Hiding my face, I pulled the covers up and snuggled deeper into the arm of...of...I raised my head and nearly fainted.

_**Ranger!? **_

I shot straight up, and gazed down at his silently, sleeping form. Confused, I looked around the room.

How did he get here?

Both his clothes and mine decorated the bedroom floor. Sorta reminded me of....of when...we...what? What was I trying to remember? I laid back down, trying really hard to remember something important. Something I knew I should remember, but it was lost to me. Closing my eyes, I drifted off to sleep, again.

The bed jiggled and I opened my eyes. It was morning. The early light of dawn filled the room, much like the moonlight had. The bed jiggled again, and I lifted my head. Morelli sat on the other side of the bed, fully dressed, putting on his shoes.

_Oh, shit! _Ranger! I searched around me for signs of Ranger, but found none. Odd? When had Ranger left? I lifted the covers up just to make sure he wasn't hiding under there somehow. And nope, he wasn't. I let the sheets drop, a tad disappointed. He left without telling me?

I sighed. Morelli heard me and turned around. Eying me in my Blue Thunders jersey, he shook his head. "_Now_ you decided to wake up, Cupcake."

I rolled my eyes and frowned. "Morning, Joe."

Joe grinned. Leaning across the bed, he kissed me. Slowly. Deeply. And just as I was starting to enjoy it, he pulled away. _Aww!_ Smiling, I opening my eyes...then stopped--_abruptly_. Oh, no. Oh, _hell_ no! In wide-eyed horror, I stared into the grinning face of an eighteen year Joseph Anthony Morelli. Oh, no. Nononono! _**NO**!_ I looked around me. Oh, God! We were behind the counter of the Tasty Pastry bakery. In fact, Joe had me cornered against the wall next to the éclair case.

"_**Oh, my God!" **Noooooooo! _

Joe chuckled. "You got that right," leaning down for more.

Completely horrified, I planting my arms firmly between us both, and to his frustration, shoved him several feet back.

Joe looked up annoyed. "Hey!? What's your **_problem_**?"

I shook my head. _Hell, no!_ I was **_sooo_** not reliving this one. I looked up at the ceiling. "Hey, God! You here me? I'm ready to wake-up now!"

Young Joe looked puzzled, then extremely annoyed, and then finally predatory again. Dropping his voice low and sexy, he edged closer to me, voice filled with fake sympathy. "Hey, I know it's a little scary your first time, but--"

**_"Stop!"_** I shouted.

Picking up a nearby pastry knife, I waved it at him. "Stay the hell away from me Morelli. **_I mean it!_** Hey, God? I really want out of this dream now! Okay!?"

Morelli licked his lips, looked at the door, then me, door, me, door, me, door....and then back to me finally. I watched his head move back and forth utter disbelief.

Jesus H. Christ. He was going to give it another shot!

Waving the knife at him, I slowly edged myself closer and closer to the storage room door and passed through. Slamming it shut, I quickly threw myself against it, and caught my breath.

_Hell_. This most definitely was _hell. _

After a minute, I turned around and found myself staring into the lobby of Vincent Plum Bail Bonding. _Oh, for the love of - !? _I looked behind me at the bare wall, then back again. _How the hell did I get here!?_

Connie and Lula Started at me from behind the reception desk.

_"Steph!" _They both screamedJumping out of their seats and rushing over to me. Worry written all over their faces.

"Ohmigod, are you crazy? What are you still doing here, Steph?"

I looked around the office, then back at Connie. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Lula shook her neo-violet haired head at me. "_White girl, _you need to get gone. Pronto!"

I stared at Lula. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. Slowing each word down for me, she tried again. "Girl, you are **_wasting time!_"**

I blinked. "Wha'?"

Both Lula and Connie sighed, and pointed out the front window. Ranger stood outside, leaning against his black BMW, waiting.

I walked out the front door, and right up to him. "Connie and Lula said I'm wasting time. Are we supposed to be somewhere?"

The corners of Ranger's lips twitched. Reaching out, he tucked a strand hair behind my ear. "Not if you don't wake up, Babe."

I sighed. "I'm trying."

"Try harder."

I grew annoyed. "_I am!_"

The twitch became a 300-watt smile. "Prove it."

I looked at him crazy. "_How!?_"

He folded his arms. "By doing it, Babe."

I pulled my hair and growled out. "_Fine!"_

I closed my eyes, counted really quickly—and loudly for Ranger's benefit, to ten, and then opened my eyes.


	24. Chapter 24: Oh, Crap…Times Up!

(a/n: Sorry for the long wait between chapters!)

Chapter 24: Oh, Crap…Times Up!

Immediately, I realized four things. One, I was lying in a very, _very_ uncomfortable positionTwo, I wasfreezing my butt off. Three, I was experiencing _the_ worst hangover of my life. And the four…well, the fourth was that some jerk off was aggravating my migraine by yelling....at me? My eyes fluttered opened, then shut again.

"…is totally bullshit, m….not….walki…away."

No, not at me. Someone else, maybe?

Straining through the fog of pain clouding my brain, I tried making sense of the sounds around me. Horns honking, the roar of an 18-wheeler passing close by, the rhythmic pounding of someone's extremely annoying stereo system....car noises. I took a steady breath. They were all car noises. And cars noises meant...I was in a _car?_

Cracking an eye open midway, I looked around. Yep, I was in a car alright…or rather a nice size mini-van. Breathing in one slow, shaky breath, I crinkled my nose at the smell. _Yuck_…something was definitely rotten back here. But for sanity sake, I wasn't about to contemplate what, just yet. Crushed, empty beer cans lay sprawled across the van floor around me. One, in fact dug painfully into my right side, as I lay loosely wrapped in a army green rain tarp..._wait!_ Backup a second. _An army green rain tarp!? _

Why the hell was I wrapped in an army green rain…oh,_ shit!_

I nearly jerked up when the voice started yelling again from the front seat. Barely shifting my head, I caught the silhouette of a man; military style buzz cut, olive green jacket, and black leather gloves. Holding a cell phone against his ear as he drove.

"**_Fine_**," he said. "Just until you arrive….**_No_**, I'm telling you. Diego pumped several cc's of that dog tranquilizer into her. If she wakes-up at all, I'll be--" he paused, listening to what the other person was saying.

"No, man….I said n_o_. He checked her out four hours ago. I keep telling you---**_then there's no point, is there?_** If she kicks it, we're still in the clear as far as…yeah….alright **_fine._****_After_** you talk to her…fine, I'll check her pulse. Make sure the bitch doesn't croak before you get a chance to….," He laughed. "Yeah, well. Don't blame me. He's the one that overdosed her."

Overdosed? Visions of my attack raced through my mind. Oh, crap. I'd been overdosed!? With what? By who?

A laughed interrupted my thought. As I heard the man mumbled something into the phone I couldn't understand. Suddenly, a tense silence filled the air, then he exploded. **_"What the hell difference does it make?"_**

More tense silence. I shut my eyes and listened. "Aw, man. You shitin' me? "

I felt him turn and stare at me. "It's Gilman, man. Diego swears it's her."

Hold on, **_Gilman!?_** Briefly, I recalled my attacker in the police station had called me Terry. **_Ohmigod!? _**Gilman...Terry? These nuts have confused me withTerry_ **freakin**_**' **Gilman! The blond mafia bimbette!? **_How the hell could they- ?_**I didn't get a chance to finish my thought. The guy in the front seat started speaking again.

"Well...if it ain't....she's half dead already, man. Won't be too much trouble to just dump her on the side of the road somewhere. Make it look like she-….yeah, may have a little fun first too," he laughed.

Oh, crap. Whatever his idea of fun was, I knew I didn't want to find out. He mumbled something else too low to hear into the phone, then snapped it shut.

Oh, God. This was unbelievable. They **_honestly _**think I'm **_Terry Gilman?_** How could they mistake me for Terry? It isn't like we were twins for God sake. How could they possibly confuse the Bleach Blond Burg Harlot with me? Suddenly, Vito's warning of the "nasty people" searching for Terry came back to me. Oh, God. I've been kidnapped by the people hunting Terry!

The guy in the front seat honked the horn frantically, cursing a passing motorist.

"Damnit! I need to take a leak," he mumbled. Tapping the steering wheel impatiently, he honked the horn once again and cursed. Gee. From the way he kept shifting in his seat, he must've had a _really_ bad case of the runs.

Honking the horn once more, he muttered. "Oh, hell," then suddenly everything in the back of the van--including me, veered off to the right.

Keeping my eyes firmly shut, I felt the van rumble to an abrupt halt and the jiggling of keys as they were removed from the ignition. Unbuckling his seatbelt, I felt him turn and peer down at me as he opening the driver's door.

He was silent for a moment; watching me as I feigned sleep, before letting out a soft chuckle. "Oh, yeah, darling. We're definitely gonna have some fun later….lot's of fun." It took everything in my not to cringe at his words.

Slamming the door shut, he left. Even from inside the van, I could hear the faint crunch of gravel under his shoes as he walked away. I waited. Eyes still firmly closed, listening to the sound as it fade away before daring to sit-up. As soon as I did, my stomach rolled and I threw up on the floor of the van. Using a second to relearn how to breathe, I took in my injuries. My right knee was slightly swollen. Both sides of my body throbbed from no telling how many number of scrapes and bruises. A strong sense of drowsiness crept over me, but I shook if off. If I closed my eyes now I'd most likely pass out. And if I did, I'd mostly never wake up again.

Looking around me for a way out, I noticed there were no inside handles to the sliding side door. _Damn._ I checked rear. Jackpot!

Crawling as best I could over to the rear doors, I yanked and yanked at them, nearly frantic, before giving up. It was no use. They were locked somehow. A fine thread of panic rose in me, but I forced it way. Breaking down now would only get me dead. I looked around again, trying to think of what to do next. He was coming back soon, and I needed a way out fast. My eyes locked on the front seats of the van. Specifically, the driver's and passenger's side doors. Pulling myself together, I crawled to the front of the van and over the front seat, nearly fainting in the process. Reaching out I tested the passenger door.

It opened.

For a moment, I let myself breakdown and weep in relief. But, only for a moment. Time was still ticking. Wiping away my tears, I pushed and shoved my body onto the gravel pavement until I rested on my back. Staring up into the late evening sky, I took a second to gather myself before attempting to stand upright using the sides of the van. _And oh boy_, was my world ever swimming when I did finally manage to make it up. Whatever they had given me, was seriously screwing up my coordination. Making me dizzy, and preventing me from staying upright without the aid of the van.

And my swollen knee wasn't helping out either.

It took me all of two seconds in my nauseous state to realize how screwed I was. I couldn't stand on my own. I couldn't walk…let alone run away. Hell, I didn't even know where…I looked around.

_Where the hell am I?! _

The van was parked in a nearly deserted Camp-rest stop/diner, along the side of a six-lane highway. Dozens of car lights flew passed, without ever slowing down. With the exception of the van, only three other cars sat parked in the lot. I swallowed nervously, when my gaze registered the fact that the restrooms were no further than forty-feet from me, _and_ facing the passenger side.

Oh, crap. I needed to move. I needed to move_ fast_.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I used the sides of the van like a crunch, and wobbled around to the other side. All the while, searching for a possible place to hide. I had just reached the driver's side of the van when a door slammed, followed by the sounds of someone whistling.

My time was officially up.


	25. Chapter 25: I need a Hero…

Chapter 25: I need a Hero…

Desperate, I searched around me for a place to hide, but found nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only empty parking spaces. ran a hand through my hair, silently crying. This wasn't _fair!_ This **_sooo _**wasn't****fair. I needed more time, yet had none.

I was all out of options.

Without warning my right knee gave out, and I fell against the side of the van. Slowly, I slid until my body lay in a crumbled heap against the gravel pavement. Silent tears continued to flow down my cheeks, as I started to realize how royally screwed I was. I listened as his whistles grew steadily louder, and watched, as his white & grey Nikes approached from the underside of....the...the..._holy, cow_. Under the van!

I could hide underneath the van!

Wasting no time, I dragged my battered 130 frame beneath the narrow undercarriage of the van. It was a spot. I doubt I could've fit if I weighed ten pounds or more. And even now, only centimeters stood between me and the metal machinery above. But, as it stood, it was the only alternative I had. My heart pounded in my chest, as I watched him grow closer. He was less then ten feet away when he came to an abrupt halt.

I held my breath and watched.

Within three quick strides, his Nikes had reached the side passenger door, and yanking it open. The world froze for exactly fifteen seconds as I waited for his reaction.

He stood there, unmoving, before swearing and slamming the passenger side door. The entire van rocked above me from the shear force it, as his white Nikes carefully stalking around the edges of the van. I watched him stalk as best I could. With little more than half and inch between me and the van's underside, turning my head in the opposite direction was virtually impossible. So I followed him as best as I could, then listened when I couldn't. He moved from one side of the van, to other and then back again, until he stood motionless next to the passenger door.

He stayed motionless for endless seconds, as my body started to shiver. Partially from shock. Partially from fear. And partially from the cold October ground seeping in through my torn sweater, numbing me all over. If I got out of this alive, I promised myself an all expense paid trip to the Bahamas. Or anyplace that didn't have weather below 80 degrees. He stayed frozen for another two seconds, before suspiciously easing along the side of the van. Almost as if .....as if he was tracking something on the ground…

Oh my god, my foot prints._ He was looking at my footprints! _

I started to silently hyperventilate, as his Nikes moved down the van's side, toward it's rear. He was still edging along the rear when headlights from an incoming car flashed across the lot. He paused, then quickly squatted down to fiddle with his shoelace, as the lights from the incoming car grew brighter. With his back to me, I could clearly see from my vantage point, a .25 caliber H&K semi-automatic peaking out from underneath his olive colored flack jacket. Along with a few other gadgets that made my stomach turn.

Moments later, a dark blue sedan parked no less than three spaces from us and turned off its lights. Leisurely, my kidnapper stood up, stretched, and without hesitation, walked away from the van. The man in the sedan got out and walked slowly toward the restrooms, before disappearing into one.

Looking toward the back of the van, I searched for my kidnapper's Nikes. Apparently, he'd managed to cover nearly half the lot before stopping when the man disappeared into the restroom. Turning around, he headed back towards the van, but paused. A loud rustling noise, coming from the direction of the woods had caught his attention.

His hand crept down along the back of jacket, as he eased toward the sound. Then, without warning, he disappeared into the thicket of trees. As I watched him disappear, my gut told me it was now or never. This was the only chance I'd get.

Sliding myself from beneath the van, I started dragging my body toward the dark, blue sedan. Years, and years from now, I would have nightmares of this very moment. Of pulling myself continuously toward the sedan, only to realize I was still too far away. After a small eternity, I finally reached the sedan. My bruised, ice cold hands, fumbled up the door, trying vainly to grip the handle for the backseat. When I could finally caught hold of the handle, the door opened smoothly and I nearly broke down in relief. With every last ounce of strength I possessed, I pulled myself into the backseat of the sedan and closed the door behind me.

And laid there, waiting….and waiting….and waiting….

Aside from my labored breathing, the only sound that could be heard was the zooming of cars in the distance. The rhythmic lull from them slowly started to put me to sleep, when, the sounds of a door slamming rousted me back awake. I listened and waited, as the sound of footsteps crunching gravel grew louder and louder, and a man appeared next to the car. One hand massaging the back of his neck, he opened the driver's side door.

The cold wind rushed in, as he sat down and sighed. Muttering something under his breath, he leaned forward and laid his head against the steering wheel and stayed like that for one full minute. I repositioned my head down, just a little bit, so that it fell down further into the seat, hiding me. But he heard it.

Stilling immediately, he raised his head up and locked eyes with me through the rearview mirror.

I smiled and waved. He swore.

Swallowing hard, I tried to speak, but it came out dry and raspy. "Drive...please...please...drive."

He just stared at me. Eyes wide-eyed disbelief, not moving. Rolling my eyes, I sat up a little and immediately wished I hadn't. The man with the buzz cut, and white Nikes had come back. He was sitting in the driver's seat of the van, talking on his cell phone. My eyes grew round and my breath caught. I stared at my stunned would be rescuer, and then back to the van. The guy followed my gazed, and his jaw clinched.

"You in trouble?"

I nodded. "Yes…drive…_please!"_

He hesitated, reaching for something in his glove compartment. He opened his mouth to say something else, when I started shrieking. Buzz cut was looking at us....at me, to be exact. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he shouted something into his cell.

Oh, shit! "Drive…**_drive_**!" I screamed.

My rescuer fumbled with his keys, and started the engine, but didn't take off. Full fledged panic erupted in me. _Why wasn't he driving off? _By now, Buzz cut had gotten out of the van and was making his way around the front of it, toward us. In his right hand the H&K was clearly visible. He raised it. I closed my eyes expecting to feel the hit of a bullet when the sedan jolted backward. I opened my eyes. Mr. Slow-to-React had finally decided to floor it out of Dodge.

The next few minute were a blurry mess. The sound of glass breaking, bullets ricocheting, and the constant swerving of the car had launched me fearfully into the backseat's floorboard. More gunfire erupted. Except, this time, it was coming from _inside _the car.

I looked up briefly, and noticed my rescuer was brandishing a huge, scary looking, custom-designed silver automatic magnum. With one hand on the steering wheel, he aimed the gun with the other over my head out the shatter rearview window. I covered my ears to dampen impact of the gunfire, but still felt each and every round echo throughout my body. My rescuer shot off a total of five rounds. On the last, I heard an all too familiar sound followed by a bright flash of light.

"Did something just explode?"

My rescuer didn't answer. He was appeared to be awestruck.

"Hey?" I yelled, catching his attention. "What exploded?"

He looked down at me, then back up again. "The van." he said, simply. I sighed. Finally, my exploding car power had been put to proper use. Running a hand through his thick hair, he muttered something that sounded like 'Christ', before flooring it onto the freeway. I lay there a moment, thanking God and all the Saints that I was still alive, before lifting my head up and thanking my rescuer.

He didn't respond. He was too busy checking the review mirror. My guess, still enamored by the giant fireball raging away in the distance. Pushing myself off the floorboard, I laid myself across the backseat. Glass may have been everywhere, but at this point…I didn't care. It was a lot more comfortable then the floorboard, and easier to pass out on.

Forgetting I said it before, I mumbled it again. "Thank you."

He looked at me briefly, then back to the road. "No problem…"

I closed my eyes, and snorted.

After a moment I opened them again, and caught him staring at me through the rearview mirror. I stared back. And for the first time, I was able to take in his appearance. He was in his late thirties, tall, wavy, black hair the reached down past his ears. Dressed in a white business shirt, and black pants. His molten chocolate eyes gaze back at me, reminded me of…of…

"Is…your name Stephanie Plum by any chance?"

"Huh?" I sat up.

"Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter. From the Trenton area?"

"Oh god, please tell me you're not a former FTA."

He laughed. I mean _really_ laughed, while shaking his head. "Christ, I don't believe this…this is so…," he broke out into a eerily familiar grin, before looking at me and laughing some more.

This was not a reaction I appreciated. _Especially_, after just nearly dying. I stared back at him, well and truly pissed. He stopped abruptly, when he noticed my mood and made an effort to calm himself down.

He coughed out the word, "Sorry," which came out kinda high pitched. Kinda like when you're holding back laughter. I narrowed my eyes, and he coughed once more before trying again. "I'm sorry....It's been a rough night. Forgive me. My name's...Tony."

I ignored the slight hesitation before he said 'Tony', in favor of focusing on being pissed. If I could've managed it, I would've crossed my arms and attempted a neck roll. Since I couldn't, I simply intensified my glare.

"Tony, is it? How do you know my nam--"

He cut me off. "Pictures…newspaper pictures. Not too long ago, I think. You...uh…blew-up a garbage truck, right?"

I groaned and reframed from answering. My head was swimming again anyway, and I need to lay down, pronto. Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the seat. After a moment, I felt Tony's hand on my wrist, checking my pulse.

"You on something, Plum?"

"No....yes..." I breathed, "…they…shot me…with something," I said. Talking was increasingly difficult. My words were starting to slur, and keeping my thought focus had become hard.

Tony sighed. "You need a doctor bad, toots."

I rolled my eyes. No shit.

He laid my hand back down, and was silent for a moment. "Hang on, ….friend nearby. Maybe…help you."

I could barely make out his words, as my body decided right there and then, was the perfect time to take a nap.


	26. Chapter 26: Intermission

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Epilogue: Prelude to an A Kicking

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Warning, boring A/N: BDTH is actually the first story in an unfinished trilogy originally posted over on the Yahoo! Plum fan fiction group. And likewise, **this **chapter was originally written as a brief epilogue that launched the second part story arc. After much thought, I've decided instead of posting each story separately (like I've done on PPF), I'll just post them all under the BDTH title. Anyway, any comments you wanna send me are welcomed. Just drop me an email. (See bio for addy)

* * *

I was in and out of consciousness for months. Alright, maybe not _months_; it just felt that way. Days? Hours, maybe? Who knows. 

My memory was one gigantic void, with the exceptional few moments of clarity. I remembered someone shaking me, then yelling. Being lifted and more yelling. A light flashing in my eyes. Followed by, (you guessed it) even more yelling, this time by several someone's.

Then it was blissful silence.

Sometime ago, very briefly, I regained consciousness long enough to note the IV sticking out of my hand and a bunch of other medical junk beeping beside me, before passing out again. It wasn't until mysecond brief moment lucidity that I realized that I was in fact, _not _in a hospital.

How did I know this?

Well...maybe it was the absence of a window that tip me off. Or...it could've been the fact that there was a Coke-Cola vending machine a few feet away from me. Or, maybe it was the fact that I was laying across a black vinyl couch. Who knows? 

Now -with the exception of the IV- the machines were gone, and across from me sat...someone. Someone, I hopeto God was some kind of elaborate hallucination. A side effect of the drug. **_Please _**_God__let _her _be a side effect of the drug! _

She sighed. "Stephanie, for the ninth time, yes I _am_ real."

Shaking my head back and forth. I mumbled. "No...shit...no..._ arrgh! _Dear God,_ haven't I suffered enough?_" 

"No," she replied, flipping the page. "Not nearly enough".

Opening my eyes, I glared with open hatred at the one. The only - Terry Gilman.

_To be continued… :o)_


	27. ITCOBL 01: FTA Gilman

ITCOBL - Chapter 01: FTA Gilman

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(Author Note: Beginnings are always hard for me. But, after lots of procrastinating, and several re-writes I've decided to go with this one. So please forgive me if doesn't sound quite right. Stephanie was being very difficult because I wouldn't let her punch Terry and start WW3. :oP It might also be a good idea to re-read 'BDTH', just to refresh your memory. Please send any and all comments, criticism, and death threats to, Thx!)

* * *

There are some men who enter a woman's life and screw it up forever. Joseph Anthony Morelli did this to me—not forever, but periodically**¹**. And for those of you who haven't been keeping tab lately, this_ **is**_ one of those 'periodic' moments.

Sigh. You see, for over two days he'd been missing. And on the spur of the moment, I decided to do some snooping. I freely admit now this was not a good idea. But it _seemed_ like a good one at the time. Suffice it to say, this particularly bad idea resulted in: a fall down a flight of stairs, fighting a stranger for dear life, drugged, kidnapped, and damn near executed. As if _that_ wasn't enough, I just woke up and found-to my absolute horror-the Anti-Christ herself, Terry G. Gilman, slouched down in a recliner, thumbing through an Entertainment Weekly magazine.

Yes, folks. TerryThe FTA everybody and their grandmotherwere searching for. And by everybody I mean cops, Mafioso's, _criminally insane killers,_ and God knows what else. Yet...there she was. Sitting across from me with nary a bruise, bandage, or bullet wound to show for. Considering my current state and how it came to be, pissed and homicidal didn't even scratch the _surface_ of my outrage.

The vinyl cushions squeaked as I tried rocking—unsuccessfully-to my side. After a third failed attempt, I sighed in frustration.

Terry snickered.

Turning my head, I shot her a look of pure disgust. For a woman with both the law and hired killers on her trail, Gilman looked entirely too happy—too healthy-too carefree.

I'd have to do something about that.

Grabbing the edge of the couch, I managed to push myself upright with about as much grace as a drunken hippo. Both hands and a sizable chunk of my midsection were wrapped tightly in medical gauze. I bit back a groaned. Jeez, from the way my body ached you'd think I'd been run over by a truck, instead of tossed down a flight of stairs. Slowly easing my bruised bare legs off the couch, I glancing around, not bothering to hide my grimace.

Those first couple of times I awoke, I'd convinced myself I'd been hallucinating.

I hadn't.

Jesus H. Christ. I really _was_ on a couch in a small windowless office space. One that could've easily been mistaken for Vinnie's except for the fact that it was much cleaner and sex-toy free. Or so I hoped.

To my right, there was an unplugged Coke machine. Next to it, a large oak door with—four_-_deadbolt locks positioned from the uppermost corner, down to the very bottom. Yikes!

I turned slightly and noticed a small, grey shelved-kitchenette directly behind me. From what I could tell, it was stocked full of every conceivable item you'd find in a modern day doctor's office. Needles, bandges, and even a mini-refrigerator.

Where the hell was I?

"A 'privately' owned clinic," Terry flipped the page of her magazine. "In Philadelphia."

I jumped and turned around. Jeez, how could I forget she was here for even a moment?

"Clinic" I croaked. Clearing my throat, I tried again "_Clinic?_ How did I get here?"

"An idiot brought you."

Idiot? I raked my brain trying to remember anything-something-but came up blank. Terry grinned and I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious.

"Why are you here?"

She snorted. "None your business."

None of my business? I opened my mouth then shut it. Hold on. Backup. _ Philadelphia? _Did she just say we're in Philadelphia!

_ "Holy crap!" _ I yelled.

Terry winced. "Keep your voice down!"

I yelled, even louder. _"How the hell did I end up in Philadelphia_!"

Terry eyes closed. One hand fell away from the magazine to clutch the…_oh, goody. _Glock. Gilman had a Glock partially hidden beneath the magazine. Peachy. I watched her sigh regretfully, then toss the EW onto the coffee table between us.

Slouching even further in her seat, I heard her murmur. "Why did he have to bring you here?"

He? "He, who?" I asked.

"Tony."

"Tony?"

With her eyes hidden beneath the palm of her hand, she nodded. "Yes. Tony. From my understanding you slipped into cardiac arrest while in his car. And '_he',_ believing it was a good idea, brought you to this clinic instead of dumping your body on the steps of a hospital."

Ouch…you could just _feel_ the love radiate off that 'dumping your body' remark.

It took a moment of searching my foggy memory to remember who exactly Tony was. "Oh…him. Wait, you know him?"

Terry snorted. "Of course I know him."

"How?"

The hand over Terry's eyes lifted a fraction of an inch. With mild irritation in her voice, she said, "_How?_ Are you joking?"

My eyes involuntarily flickered toward the Glock. Gilman's hand was still clutching it mighty tightly. My eyes flickered back and forth between it and Gilman's face, with a growing sense of unease.

"Uh…No. Sorry, didn't realize he was one Vito's guys."

Gilman cocked her head to the side and stared at me with a look of disbelief. "He's not."

"Oh." I said, nodding.

Gilman continued to stare at me. After a moment, a slow amile spread across her face and she started to crack up. Huh?

"I don't believe it!" she said. "He never…You don't…You honestly don't…to you of all people," Terry doubled over, nearly falling out of her chair laughing. I watched her feeling both angry and annoyed.

Wheezing, Gilman calmed down, then turned to me with an almost triumphant smirk. "Thank you. You have made my day. But, seriously. Tony didn't even look—remotely-familiar to you?"

I glared at Gilman. My memory of Tony was a little fuzzy. But, I could still make out his dark brown eyes, and wavy black hair. They did, for some reason, trigger a sense of familiarity in me…along with his voice.

I paused. His voice?

I focused in on Tony's voice. Deep, sort of rusty. I was certain I'd heard it before. But, where? I looked up and caught Gilman watching me intently, triumphant smile still plastered across her face. I opened my mouth to wipe that smile off her face. But, stopped. For some reason my Spidey sense was warning me not to.

Terry watched for a second more before shaking her head.

"Ah, well," she stood up. "He's from such a bigBurgfamily. I thought you'd know him. My mistake."

"Which Burg family?"

She stretched. "You can ask him when he gets here."

Hugging her right side, Gilman limped slowly toward the kitchenette behind me. _Aha!_ So she _was_ injured. I couldn't help the bit of evil satisfaction I gained from this bit of knowledge. I watched her move, trying to figure out who Tony was, and why it tickled Terry to no end that I didn't recognized him. Then reflected on what she just said.

"Wait? When he gets here? He's not here now? Why is he coming?"

Terry moved passed me. "Figure it out for yourself."

I took a deep breath, reined in my temper, and tried my darndest not to snap. "If I could, I wouldn't ask. And why are you limping?"

Reaching the kitchenette, she sighed loudly. "For the love of God, don't you _ ever_ shut up Just mind your own goddamn business?"

_ Snap! _

Ignoring the pain and a sudden dizziness, I stood up. "See, that's where you're dead wrong. It _is_ my businessnow. I was nearly_ killed because of you! _That officially makes it my business. Whether you like it or not."

Terry cut her ice-blue eyes to me. "Explain."

"Explain_!" _

"Yes, explain."

I swallowed down a scream and gave up trying to control the dam of rage I'd been holding back ever since I awoke. "Two men. One in a Trenton PD Uniform and the other in army fatigues: drugged me;kidnapped me; and planned to off me, all because they mistook _me_ for _you_. And how's that, huh? How could they have made that _mistake! We look nothing alike_! Nothing! Can you explain that to me?"

Terry looked away and didn't answer.

"Explain that, Terry. How the hell…," I trailed off, mid-sentence.

For the first time it dawned on me how unusual Terry was dressed. For some odd reason, she'd traded in her slinky mafia business suit for an oversized red flannel shirt, faded black Ghostbusters tank-top, ripped blue jeans and Doc Martins.

I would have laughed at how badly the clothes fit her except something was nagging me. The tank-top she wore was the spiting image of one I had tucked away safely in Morelli's closet. I stopped wearing it as anything other than a night shirt, because there was a big tear up the…side…kind of like one Terry has…

I stared. "That's…that's my shirt."

Terry looked down and made a face. "This? Well…it sure as hell ain't mine."

I blinked. _Ohmigod!_ The more I looked, the more I recognized. The pants…they were mine too! I ripped them a month ago going through the windowsill of an FTA's house. And…shit. I even recognized the oversized green flannel shirt. _It was Morelli's._

I saw red! _"How did you get those clothes!" _

Gilman smiled. "Someone gave them to me."

"_Who?"_

"Guess."

I took a step forward. "Did Morelli give you those clothes?"

Terry leaned back against the countertop, smiling. "Brava! Wonder Woman gets it right on the first try."

I stared at her. "You're lying."

She nodded. "Maybe. Of course, how else could I have gotten your clothes?"

I was reeling. How had she gotten my clothes? _Heck, _w_hy _did she _need _my clothes! Didn't she have enough tacky clothes of her own? Why did she have to go and steal mine? The little voice inside my head said. _Duh! She didn't. The rat bastard gave them to her._ But, _why?_ The little voice answered back. _Because he's an asshole! _

I finally uttered the question I'd been avoiding ever since I found the photo album in Terry's house. "What are you and Joe up to?"

Gilman laughed. "What 'aren't' we up to?"

I moved around the couch and she lifted the gun. "No sudden movements, C_upcake_," she nodded back over to the couch. "Why don't you sit back down?"

"And why don't you just die, huh? What the hell are you doing with Joe?"

Terry just smirked and reached over and grabbed a roll of paper towels.

"You're hand is bleeding," she said, tossing the roll.

I looked down. Where the I.V. had been attached a dark red stain bled through the bandages and onto the front of my-ugh—_pink _and _white_ hospital gown?

Jeez, not only was I now angry, but embarrassed and seriously disturbed. Somehow, someway I had been stripped and placed in a hospital gown. How or by whom, I didn't want to contemplate. I tore off some towels and pressed them against my hand. A cabinet door slammed shut, and I looked up.

Terry was slouched against the kitchenette drinking a bottle of water. I hoped fervidly that she'd choke on it and drown. Opening my mouth, I tried to say something—anything—but couldn't. The air stayed lodged in my throat. Images from the picture album flooded my mind. Joe and Terry dancing…laughing…and…

I leaned against the side of the couch for support. "Are you having an affair with Morelli?"

She sighed. "Poor, poor Stephanie. Let me save you some heartbreak. Joseph is…well a Morelli. And like the majority of Morelli men, he can't be-nor will he _ever_ be—faithful to anyone. _Ever_. That means _you_," she stopped, spread her hands in a wide gesture and flashed me look of pity.

"And…as much as my baby likes to pretend he isn't—"

I choked. "_Your baby_?"

"He is very much the typical Morelli male…and God," she breathed, looking all sickeningly dreamy. "The stories I could tell you of our times together the last few yea—"

"Oh stuff it, you whore."

I took a step forward and she pulled the slide back on the Glock.

"Please. Go head," she taunted, eyes quickly losing all emotion. "I'm _aching_ to finish what the GHB overdose started."

I stared at the gun and took a step back. Terry grinned. "Good." Waving the gun to my left, she said. "You see that grey bag behind with the boots on top? It's full of your clothes. Take them into the bathroom and change. You have ten minutes."

We glared at each other for a full minute before I turned, picked up the duffel bag and boots, and stepped into the bathroom. Slamming the door as hard as I could behind me.

* * *

**¹Quote from 'One for the Money'**


	28. ITCOBL 02: Reflection and Revelation

ITCOBL - Chapter 02: Reflection and Revelation

* * *

Warning! Warning! It might be a good idea to re-read 'BDTH', just to refresh your memory. Please send any and all comments, criticism, and death threats to ** Thx!****

* * *

**I fell against the bathroom door, unsure of how to feel or think. A multitude of emotions raced through me. Anger, betrayal, humiliation, pain-quite a bit of _ that _one-fought each other to become the most prominent. 

My injured knee slowly gave out, and I slid down the door to the bathroom floor. I started to replayed everything I'd ever heard about Joe and Terry. Every rumor. Every page or phone call. The way he reacted that night she disappeared. How Vito's thugs fell over laughing at the mention of me looking for her. And on and on and on…

I laughed darkly. Did everybody know except me?

A tear rolled silently down my cheek. I wiped it away. At the moment, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and pretend the last few hours—correction—_days_ never happened. It took three tries, but eventually I found the strength to push myself off the bathroom tile.

Walking to the sink, I laid the gym bag and boots on the counter top and stared down into the stainless steel basin, studiously avoiding the large mirror that hung over it. Scared of what I might see. Gathering my strength, I darted a glance at the mirror and winced.

It was worst than I thought.

Red, bloodshot eyes stared back at me, along with an assortment of injuries. The yucky, grainy, tangled mess that used to be my curly, brown hair poofed up into an afro, while bruises, (can't forget them) ran along my arms, legs, and-I lifted the gown-yep chest too, in every conceivable color. I lowered the gown. Crap. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, before opening the gym bag.

As I searched, I couldn't stop thinking about Morelli and Gilman's so called 'working' relationship. Had I _really_ been that blind? God! Okay, so I did sort of catch on to the fact that that their working relationship sort of mirrored Ranger's and my own. And, yeah, I knew she was a big part of his past. But seriously, I never thought an adult Morelli would sink so low as to rekindle a relationship with her. Not because he wouldn't want too, but an affair-hell _any_ kind of serious relationship with Gilman-meant his badge.

And unless there was some big change in department policy, there was no way in _ hell_ they'd gloss over something as explosive and potentially damaging as one of their own, screwing an active Mafioso. Helpful, traitorous snitch or not. Not only would it compromise the integrity of active criminal cases, but the credibility of any information obtained.

They'd never stand for it.

Well…that is, other than as a fake cover to help out a sting. Sort of like the constant hotel meetings that ended up nabbing Tommy Galucci. An evil little voice asked. _But how would they know if it was all just make believe? Was there someone watching Morelli, making sure he wasn__'t boning Gilman instead of doing his job? _

I stopped searching through the bag, and pulled out whatever was in my hand. If it didn't match, screw it. I wasn't in the mood to care.

I couldn't stop thinking about Joe, Terry, and the rumors surrounding their relationship. The freshest crop-like those before them-were born from their constant 'meetings' to share information.

I snorted. If the department suspected there was anything more, I'm sure I would have heard about. At least, I hoped Eddie would have clued me in. Was it plausible that somewhere along the way their relationship had changed? That they were having an affair? Had Joe decided this was his only opportunity to have a relationship-one he couldn't otherwise have-with Terry?

I started to dismiss it, but stopped. That couldn't be it…could it?

I mean, if they were, which they weren't, but if it were, what stopped Terry from blackmailing Morelli with knowledge of their affair? That is, if she wasn't already doing it. She was a police snitch after all. Selling out Vito. her uncle, regularly, for personal gain. Double crossing and blackmailing her cop lover with the proof of an affair couldn't be that much of a stretch.

Taking the gown off, I dressed, then hopped up onto the counter top and sat.

But even with all the evidence, I couldn't bring myself to believe Joe would cheat on me. Not with Gilman, at least. No matter how pissed off or crazy I made him, he wouldn't risk losing his job. He loved his job with everything in him. If he cheated with anyone surely it wouldn't be with her. Yet, if Gilman and Joe's relationship really was just work related, what did she get out of it? A snitch isn't a snitch for nothing. What was in it for her?

A little voice answered back. _Duh, Joe._

From the second she'd showed back up in Trenton, Terry had shown an eagerness to rekindle their old relationship. What better way to get next to him then through the one thing he loved the most: his job. If that was her aim, she'd never rat him out…And if he wanted a relationship with Terri and not give up his job...

How hard could it be?

If Gilman fed him enough tidbits of info to make it appear as if he was doing his job; they could easily carry on with an affair, uninterrupted. The department wouldn't question the rumors. They'd figure it was only part of his cover. And Vito…well hell, Vito probably knew. His goons sure as hell did. Why he did nothing about it, I didn't know. Gilman and Morelli were free to screw each other blind without, or in spite of, any outside interference.

Like me.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cool surface of the mirror. No, I didn't believe that. I didn't wanna believe it. Oh hell. Now wasn't the time to decide whether I _did_ or _didn__'t_. Right now, getting the hell away from here and back to Trenton was my biggest concern. Right now, denial and avoidance were my best friends where Morelli and Terry's relationship were concerned.

But I promise myself, when Joe did turn back up we were going to have a talk. A _ long_ one. If not about his relationship with Gilman, than at the very least, his soon to be shattered truck windows.

I sighed and tried to run a hand through my tangled mess of curls without much luck. I needed a brush. Not to mention some shampoo conditioner. Instead, I settled for a scrunchy at the bottom of the gym bag.

I was still trying to tie my hair up, when Gilman pounded on the door. "Time's up!_" _

Giving the bathroom a quick once over, I seriously contemplated the merits of barricading myself in, then sighed. Sliding off the counter top, I searched the room for something I could use as a makeshift weapon. But aside from a roll of toilet paper there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Damnit. Not even a window to escape out of. The only exit was through Terry and her Glock.

Crap.

Opening the door slightly, I cautiously peeked outside and stalled in my tracks. Besides a pair of Oakley's and a worn New York Ranger's denim jacket, Terry was now donning a curly, dark brown wig.

I stared in disbelief. Oh…my…God!

The wig. The clothes. Jesus H. Christ she really _did_ kinda look like me. _A lot_ like me. Unnerving to say the least. It was easy to see why the kidnapper in the police station had mistaken her for me.

Hold on. Out of all disguises she could have chosen, she picked one that made her look like me. Coincidence? Eddie's voice came floating back to me: _ "…female, light curly brown hair shoulder length, blue jeans, green flannel shirt, shades…next to your car…."clicked" the alarm system off…" _

My eyes bulged. Holy Crappola. I slammed the bathroom shut.

_ Gilman stole my car!_ The boyfriend wasn't enough? She had to go after my _car! _

Dead. So dead.

I looked around the room. If Terry realized I was searching for a blunt object to beat her head in, it didn't show. She was too busy talking on a cell phone.

"No I mean, now." Terry said, then paused. Even from where I stood, I could hear the voice of a very agitated male.

Gilman shook her head. "Not my problem. You brought her here," Pause. "No, I will not. I'm leaving." Another long pause." Look, what part of ten minutes do you not understand?" Terry quickly jerked the phone from her ear, as the man on the other end let off a string of Italian curse words.

She held the cell away from her, looking at it as if it was infested with cooties, before yelling back. "_Well then! Never pick up strange women from truck stops. Ten minutes. Ciao_!" then snapped the phone shut.

"Let me guess. That was Tony?"

She shoved the cell phone into the pocket of her—correction— my jeans and picked up her bottled water.

"Yes. He'll be here shortly to answer all your questions...or not. Either way, I don't really care. I'm leaving to do some," she looked down at her clothes and grimaced. "Shopping. Definitely, shopping."

I stood there wanting like hell to knock her around until she told me everything I needed to know. What trouble was she in? Why was she impersonating me? Was she screwing Joe? Why did she steal my car? Or, even, how did she manage to get the keys? Wait, scratch that. I have a pretty good idea how she got those keys.

As I opened my mouth, to my surprise, something else came tumbling out.

"Why did Vito want me to escort you and Gino, down to the police station to turn yourselves in?"

Terry was looking around the room for something and answered absently.

"Why?"

"Yeah," I sat down on the armrest of the recliner. "Why? Why not go on your own. Or, hell, call Vinnie and ask him to be waiting there to bail both of you back out? You and Gino wouldn't have even had to spend a night in jail."

Gilman snorted and looked down at her watch. "Vito didn't tell you during your little 'meeting' at Rossini's?"

She knew about that?

"Yes, I know about that." Damn. "_And_ your failed attempt at burglarizing my home." Double damn.

Terry walked over to Coke machine, and leaned against it. "Not that it matters anymore, but you taking me down to the Trenton PD was purely for show."

I blinked. "For show? I'm confused."

"Big surprise."

"Wait. How was it just for show? You do realize you've jumped your bond, right? You're a FTA-"

"Spare me. I was going into federal protective custody Not real jail."

I replayed that statement over. It still made no sense. "Huh?"

"Federal Protective Custody, a.k.a., the Witness Protection Program. There was a bit of trouble recently. I needed to disappear for awhile. And all parties involved thought it would be for the best if I turned myself over to the Fed's at the time of the FTA charge. Supposedly, I was to go straight from the police station to a safe house somewhere," Terry paused, and pushed herself off of the Coke machine. "Unfortunately, it didn't work out like that."

Witness Protection Program? "Wait, you're going into the-"

"Nope. Operative word 'supposedly.' Not that it matters anymore," Terry looked down at her watch. "Tony will be here any minute. He's taking you back to Trenton. I'd advise you not to mention you've seen me. To anyone. Especially, the cops. Unless of course, you _want_ a repeat of what happened to you? Besides, I need you to do me a favor."

"Favor? Excuse me?"

Terry reaching into her jean pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and tossed into the recliner seat. "I need you to contact Vito. Not in person, but over the phone. Give him that message."

I picked it up. It read. "_I'm okay, but expecting trouble soon. Can't make contact with J. Not answering his phone. Not sure what's going on. If you haven't heard from me in three weeks, I'm in trouble."_

I looked up from the message and stared blankly at her. She sighed. "Just

do it. You owe me that much."

I blinked, then narrowed my eyes. Never looking away from her face, I tore the message into little pieces.

Terry expression morphed from shock to rage. "What are you—,"

"Owe you? For what? For getting kidnapped? Nearly being raped and tortured? I don't owe you _jack_! And I take back what I said earlier. I don't want to be involved in anyway with your 'business'."

"Look. Whether I personally gave a damn if you lived or died, is incidental. I _ allowed_ you to receive medical treatment. Without it, you would have died," she looked me dead in the eye. "You owe me."

Was this twit for real?

I stood up. "_Oh, how kind of you!_ Seeing as how if you hadn't been going around Trenton masquerading as me, I wouldn't have ended up in the position of needing it in the first place." I stood up. "Read my lips. _I-don__'t-owe-you_-_jack_!"

She sighed in exasperation. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't that someone would mistake me for you and try and kill you. It never occurred to me that my 'appearance' might make others confuse you with me."

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. "Bullshit! And you also stole my car!"

She shrugged. "I needed it more then you. And for the last friggin' time, it wasn't on purpose. I…oh, _screw it!__"_

Terry turned toward the door and froze.

With both of us no longer fighting you could vaguely make out the muffled sounds of shouting, followed by a faint popping noise. Gilman swore. Rushing over to the door, she quickly secured each of the four locks.

I watched her, alarmed. "What's going on?"

"Quiet!" she hissed.

As she latched the very last lock, two loud booms vibrated the walls. I involuntarily took a step backwards. "That was a gunshot."

Gilman turned and looked at me as if I was crazy. "Really? Ya, think?"

Another shot sounded and Terry cursed.

Oh, Crap.

Standing up, Terry walked over to the unplugged Coke-Cola machine and nudged it. "We need to push this toward the door."

Now it was my turn to look at her as if she was the crazy one. Another series of shots sounded. This time, _much_ closer.

Gilman turned toward me. "You hard of hearing? We need to—"

"_Get out of here!_ Not trap ourselves in like a bunch of sitting ducks!"

Terry growled. Lifting the gun, she pointed at me. "Help. Me. Push."

I stared down the barrel of the Glock. Crap. The sound of gunfire grew louder and I caved. Taking the opposite side, I threw my full weight against the machine, while she pulled. "You know this is useless" I panted. "

Whoever's out there…will…eventually make it…through the…" I trailed off.

Behind the Coke machine was a large vent-like opening. Big enough for a full grown man to crawl through. After a moment, it suddenly dawned on me what it was. A hidden exit from the room.

"Don't stop," Terry panted. "We need to block the door."

I nodded. Then threw everything I had into pushing the machine toward the door. We got it into place just in time. The sounds of doors being kicked in, fighting, and gunfire could be head heard clearly outside the door.

Leaning against the machine, Terry tried to catch her breath. Mumbling something, she tossed the wig across the room. I gripped my sides trying my best not to pass out from the intense pain surrounding my ribs. My heart pounded in my chest. And try as I might, I couldn't inhale enough air. I fell against the wall ready to pass out, but caught myself.

Later, I promised myself. As soon as I got away from the bad guys, I could bitch about the pain and pass out as much as I wanted, later.

Terry wasted no time kneeling in front of the vent and unhitching the metal grate covering. Pushing it to the side, she crawled through the vent, and I followed suit. The vent opened into a 3-ft wide hallway that seemed to have been built between our room and the next.

I was barely on my feet, when Terry shoved me aside and knelt down to re-fasten the covering. Relocking it firmly, from our side. As she stood, Terry shoved me again and hissed. "Don't just stand there. _Move_!"

I bit back a smart remark and started down the hall. As I did, I noticed the sounds of fighting had stopped. Yet, as my hand gripped the walls, I could feel them shaking—violently-every couple of seconds. I started to speed up, nearly tripping twice in the dim light.

After a third near fall, I whispered. "Exactly, where does this lead?"

"You'll find out. Keep moving."

I did. Seconds later, the passage ended abruptly as we rounded a corner and came face to face with a window. Moving past me; Terry stepped over to it, unlatched the window, and stepped right through onto the rooftop of a nearby building. She'd been moving so quickly, she hadn't noticed that her cell phone had fallen out of her jean pocket and onto the hall floor. I picked the phone up, pocketed before easing myself through the window. The second I stepped onto the awaiting rooftop, a loud smash rocked the walls behind me.

Uh-oh.

Arrivaderci, Coke machine.

With new incentive, I scrambled across the rooftop and caught up with Terry who was trying to pry open the window of what appeared to be a seedy looking motel room. It wouldn't budge. Muttering several Italian curses, Terry gave up.

Hopeful, I looked around for any other exits. Thanks to full moon and partly cloudily sky, every nook and cranny of the rooftop was visible. After a moment of frantic searching, I realized there was no other way off. Shit! We were screwed. Looking back at the building we had just come from, I wondered how long would it take whoever it was to catch up?

At the sound of breaking glass, I jumped and turned around. Terry had shattered the window with a brick, and was now clearing away the excess glass before squeezing through. As soon as she made it through, I followed. Halfway of me was almost through, when a bullet whistled over my shoulder. Jerking, I bumped my head against the windowsill, and fell the rest of the way through. It was a small mercy that I didn't land on any of the large jagged pieces of glass.

Terry crouched down, out of sight, next to the window, and shot back toward the building. Crawling passed her I ended up at the foot of the room's queen-size bed. Frantically, searching for the door. To my dismay it was directly across from to the window, and sporting a steadily increasing set of bullet holes.

Damnit!

Terry stopped and ejected the empty clip out of her Gloak then reach for another. Over the hail of bullets, Terry yelled. "Go out the door!"

_"Are you fucking nuts?"_

"It's unlocked. You can pull it open from the bottom and escape down the emergency stairwell to the right."

Escape, Yay! I hesitated. "Stairwell?"

Terry stopped shooting and turned to me. "Look. Joe would never forgive me if I let something happen to you. _Now go! _I'll cover you."

I held my tongue. This was not the time to get bitchy. So I weighed my options. On the one hand, I could sit here until Terry's bullets ran out and meet a grisly end with her. Or…run the risk of getting shot as I escaped to freedom. There was no love lost between Terry and me, but I just didn't feel right leaving her on her own. Plus, she was the only one with a gun. If I got caught, I would be unprotected and defenseless. Yet, there was nothing I could accomplish by staying. And if I managed to escape, I could alert the authorities…if they hadn't been already. 

Steeling myself, I picked up the discarded brick (hey, its better than no weapon at all) and crawled over to the door. Hooking my fingers underneath, I opened it, and wiggled my way out into the hall. A few feet in front of me, a half dressed guy in a pair of boxers crawled out of his room on his hands and knees. He had a gun at his side and was yelling into a cell phone. I fumbled to my feet, ran passed him, down the hall, down the emergency stairs, and slammed straight into the hotel's parking lot.


	29. ITCOBL 03: Run Stephanie, Run

Chapter 03: Run Stephanie, Run

* * *

I slammed through the emergency exit; exhausted, trembling, and fighting a sudden bout of dizziness. My panicked run down four flights of stairs had left me gasping for air and barely able to stand. 

Pressing myself against the side of the motel, I struggled to catch my breath, as the muffled sound of cars roared past, and a dog barked in the distance. A radio played faintly nearby, strangely in tune with the constant buzzing from the flickering neon 'EXIT' sign above the emergency door. I stood there in the narrow alleyway between the buildings, wondering, was I dreaming?

Just seconds ago there had been an all out gun battle. Now, nothing. Where the heck were the police sirens? Gunshots? People running for dear life? After standing there for near five minutes, I shook myself. Christ! What's the matter with me? I should be halfway down the block by now!

Placing a hand against the wall for support, I slowly edged up the alley and emerged into the hotel's rear parking lot. Wedged snuggly between the hotel and the building next door, the eastern and southern ends were gated off from the dimly lit street. Stepping further into the lot, I squinted through rows of cars looking for an entrance/exit. A moment of dizziness struck me, and I staggered several feet over to a nearby '78 Cameo, and leaned against the hood.

_ Big_ mistake.

The alarm system sounded, alerting anyone within a seven block radius of my presence. _SHIT_! Can't I ever get a fuckin' break! I slid off the hood, groaning, and took off toward the back end of the parking lot. I stopped up short and hid behind a minivan at the sound of footsteps. Peering through the back windshield, I watched as a group of five men, dressed mostly in black, materializing from the alleyway I'd just come from. As they came into better view, I caught sight of what appeared to be Uzi's in their hands.

I swallowed. Great. Just great. Me and my brick verses five guys armed with Uzi's. Yeah, I was so getting out of this one alive.

I watched them approach the Cameo. Two breaking away and circling, while the others stood off to the side. Oh-mi-god! The blood drained from my face, as I caught sight of the one in the middle. It was him! It was the man who'd driven the van.

I gasped. As if he could hear it, he looked straight in my direction, then scanned the rest of the parking lot. I ducked down further and watched him speak to each of the men. The two beside him nodded, turned, and when back into the alley.

Turning to the remaining two, he motioned to the parking lot with his gun and said something. The men nodded, then pulled out their flashlights. Taking a section of the lot, each man flanked out and started walking down the rows of cars. And just my luck. Evil Van Guy a.k.a. Nikes was coming my way.

I held the brick in a death grip, and eased backwards until I'd lodged myself between a navy blue pick-up truck and the parking lot fencing. My heart pounded as I watched him slowly walk down the row of cars, flashing his light.

"Terry," he sang. "Come out, Come out. Wherever you are."

He was within fifteen feet of me, now beside the minivan. The next time he flashed the light in my direction, he'd see me for sure. If I was quick enough, maybe I could knock him out and crawl over the fence. But that was unlikely. Even If I did manage it, the other men would hear or see and I'd be dead before I even stubble to the fence. I held my breath and waited for the inevitable. If I made it through this, I was going torture Terry Gilman within an inch of her life, and then let Grandma play with her.

He started to swing the light in my direction when a cat meowed. Startled, he jerked his head around and swore. Peeking out from behind the tire wheel was an orange and white tabby. The man swore again, and kicked at it. It hissed, then retreated back underneath the van and emerged out the other side, promptly disappearing through a huge hole someone had cut into the wire rim fence…whoa, wait!

A loud crashed sounded from across parking lot. A moment later one of the men who'd gone back into hotel staggered back out. He stood for a moment, swayed, then fell to the ground. There was another crash, someone yelled, and was answered with two loud bangs. It was dead quite for exactly three seconds. Then all hell broke loose.

I wasn't sure what was going on. Bullets rained through the parking lot, shattering car windows and setting off alarms. The man who was once my kidnapper crouched behind the minivan for cover, as he shot toward something at the alley entrance. He was literally only four feet from me now. I looked at the hole. With everyone distracted trying to kill each other, I had a real chance of making it out. Alive. Barring the fact, I could get past the psychotic asshole in front of me. That was simple enough, right?

Right.

I slowly eased toward him. He ducked, suddenly. I reared back a step. The back windshield of the minivan exploded into a million pieces and rained over us. Shielding his eyes, he turned and looked straight at me. His eyes blazed shocked for a split second, before the brick slammed against his head. Dropping his gun, he yelled out and fell away from the cover of the minivan. Still yelling, he held the side of his bleeding head and started to stand, when something hit him from behind. A bullet. Several more hit him and he cried out. I turned away quickly, closing my eyes, and covering my ears. I could still hear him yelling. Then suddenly, he stopped.

I didn't look back.

Moving up the fence, I grabbed the edges of the hole and wiggled through. Crotched down, I hurried toward the corner of the next building. Something stung my left shoulder. I staggered a bit, but keep on moving. Another shots hit the ground near me, as I rounded the corner.

Clutching my shoulder, I felt blood trickle down my shirt sleeve. In the distance and getting louder, sirens sounded. Thank God!

But hell if I was sticking around.


	30. ITCOBL 04: Help!

Chapter 04: Help!

* * *

So I ran..and ran...and ran some more. Down alleyways. Across streets. With no real direction in mind. My only goal, placing as much distance between the bad guys and me. 

After what felt like hours and on the risk of passing out, I came to a stop. Wheezing, bone tired, and bleeding profusely from where the bullet had grazed me; I halted outside the well lit doors of a closed grocery. Legs, chest, and ribs protested their misuse.

I stared at the ground, wanting to sit down and rest, but didn't. I'd never get up again if I did. I swayed for a moment, clutching my shoulder, wondering what to do next when my jean pocket started to buzz. I stood there confused, wondering how a pocket could vibrate, before reaching in and pulling out a cell phone. Terry's to be exact.

It vibrated again as I tried to figure out how to answer it. I finally figured it out by the seventh ring.

"Hello?" I said, mumbling around the gigantic cotton ball in my mouth.

No replied. I cleared my through and tried again. "_Hellooo?"_

Pause. "So…you're still alive, Terry."

That voice. I knew it. It was him. The man who'd attacked me and kidnapped me from inside Trenton PD.

I swallowed, and held the phone in a death grip. "Sorry. There's no one here by that name. I think you dialed the wrong number."

The man chuckled. "Terry, Terry, Terry…why don't you make this easier for yourself? Tell me, where are you? Where's Morelli hiding?"

A chill crept down my spine. "Morelli?"

"Yes Terry, where is he?"

I took a deep breath. "Look, I'm _not_ kidding. I'm not Terry. And I don't know how long Morelli's been missing. I didn't know he even was."

"Quit toying with me."

"Look you fuckin' asshole! Get it through your skull. I am not Terry Gilman."

He paused for a long moment. "Who are you?"

"A very pissed off Jersey girl who's itching to use you for target practice the next time she sees you."

He chuckled. "Ah…Ms. Plum, I take it?"

I punched the 'END' button.

Thoroughly shaken, I looked around. There were no cars coming from either direction on the road beside the grocer. But still, I didn't feel safe. Backing away from the light, I hobbling down a row of snack and soda machines till I found an empty space and wedge myself in between.

I started to shove the cell phone back into my jean pocket, then stopped. Jesus Christ! I had a phone! I snapped it back open and stared at the numbers. Who could I call? My hands shook as I punched in the first number that came to mind.

"Speak," Ranger said, sounded away but tired.

"Ranger?"

He paused. "Steph?"

_ "Ranger!" _ I squealed.In the background, I heard something heavy crash to the floor.

_ "W_here are you?"

"I'm…I'm, oh God. Help me! I'm in Philadelphia. People are trying to kill me."

"Where in Philly?"

I squinted at a street sign and rambled off a name. "I'm at grocer on the corner hiding between two soda water vending machines."

"Are they still after you?"

"I don't kn—," I stopped. A car was coming. I could hear it. A moment later a dark blue SUV slowly rolled pass the grocer, and stopped at the light. I held my breath and huddled closer into my corner.

"Babe?"

The light changed color, yet the SUV didn't budge. My heart pounded.

"What's happening Steph?"

"Car." I croaked.

"What?"

I watched and waited. Soon the van started up again and turned the corner. "Nothing. Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're still looking for me."

"Are you well hidden?"

"As well hidden as I can get."

"You called the police?"

I paused. "No…should I?" It was a stupid question. Hell, yes I should call the police. But in all honesty, I didn't want cut my link to Ranger. His voice alone made me feel safer.

"No Babe. I'll take care of it. Don't hang up."

"O'kay" I started crying. Not the all out weepy sort of crying. But, maybe three steps maybe away. I sniffed. "My shoulder's bleeding."

Ranger paused. "How bad?"

I laughed. "Well…," Objects swam in and out of my vision. "I think I'm going into shock."

"Hold on, Babe. The police and several of my men are coming to…you…five minutes…'hear me?"

I mumbled something and sank down to the grown. Ranger was still speaking to me, but try as I might I couldn't understand what he was saying. My head was spinning. Time flowed by in vague little snippets. Car headlights. Doors slamming. A blurry face leaning over me. Shouting. A pressure on my shoulder. Floating. Doors slamming again. I blanked out.

* * *

I awoke to someone was shaking me. I tried telling them to stop it, but my mouth wasn't functioning for some reason. I settled for groaning. 

"Stephanie?" They leaned over me.

I opened my eyes. Or at least tried to. After a third time of only making them flutter, I succeeding. A blurred, vaguely familiar faced hovered above me. "Sheesh, Bombshell. Dozens of cuts, hundreds of bruises, a broken rib, and a bullet wound." He shook his head. "Jeez, who knew Macy's shoe sales could be so violent."

I groaned, and attempted to roll my eyes. "Go…away…Lester," I mumbled, through the oxygen mask.

He grinned. "Not until you say you love me."

"Rot…in hell…Santos." I croaked.

Leaning over, he kissed my temple. "I love you to, Bombshell." Reaching over my head, Lester pressed a button. "Yo, Bobby. She's up."

He sat down in a chair beside the bed. I blinked at him, then looked around at all the beeping machinery. Another I.V. had been placed in my arm. Across from the bed on a muted T.V., SpongeBob chased clams with his equally annoying friend Patrick.

I turned back to Lester. "This is a…hospital, right?"

He nodded. "One of Philly's finest."

"Ranger?"

Lester grinned. "Breaking the speed limit as we speak."

I relaxed somewhat. The door opened and Bobby walked in, followed closely by a doctor. He smiled down at me and squeezed my hand. "Hey Bombshell, feeling better?"

"Tons."

The nurse poked, prodded, and asked me a dozen or so questions that had me yelling out—_Yes, that hurts!_—far, far too many times, before finally stopping. A short time later, Ranger arrived and I passed out. I didn't mean to exactly. But, the nurse shot my I.V. up with something that had me dozing off by the time he knocked on the door.

Anyway, when I awoke later he was still there in a chair beside the bed. Arms crossed, eyes closed, head slightly bowed, Ranger chest rose and lowered rhythmically. Batman was taking a bat-nap.

Looking past him, I spotted both Bobby and Lester sitting on the couch with a pile of money and a deck of cards between them. I turned toward the door. It was cracked just enough to spot the two scary looking merry men standing guard outside.

I sighed. Safe. I was finally safe. Closing my eyes, I dozed off once more.


End file.
